WMOND 
LEW ./',':, 


The  senorita  atones  for  a  multitude  of  sins. 


ALONG  THE 
RIO  GRANDE 


BY 

TRACY  HAMMOND  LEWIS 


Illustrations   by 

OSCAR  FREDERICK  HOWARD 


NEW  YORK 

LEWIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
1916 


Copyright,  1916,  by 
The  Lewis  Publishing  Company 


This  Book 

Is  Dedicated  to 

WILLIAM   EUGENE   LEWIS 

The  Best  Father 

1  Have  Ever  Had 

T.  H.  L. 


355528 


PREFACE 

To  gather  material  for  this  book  the  author  wan- 
dered in  July  and  August,  1916,  along  the  Rio  Grande 
as  a  warless  war  correspondent.  Disappointed  in  the 
absence  of  sanguinary  battles,  he  turned  his  attention  to 
the  less  bloodthirsty  inhabitants  and  the  country  in  which 
they  lived,  and  felt  it  had  been  worth  the  journey. 

What  he  has  said  concerning  them  was  written 
hastily  from  day  to  day  for  the  New  York  Morning  Tele- 
graph, to  which  he  is  indebted  for  the  permission  to 
reprint  it. 

He  does  not  offer  this  book  for  literary  merits,  nor 
has  he  any  "message"  to  convey.  For  this  he  apologizes. 
He  has  described  conditions  only  as  he  found  them  and 
persons  whom  he  has  met,  without  coloring  to  suit  a 
purpose. 

If  he  conveys  to  the  reader  a  small  part  of  the  inter- 
est and  strangeness  of  the  land  by  the  Rio  Grande  his 
mission  shall  have  been  fulfilled — the  "message"  can  be 
reserved  for  some  distant  date. 

T.  H.  L. 


CONTENTS. 

Chapter  Page 
I.  On  the  Way  to  the  Border  and  the  Unex- 
pectedness of  El  Paso 1 

II.   In  Old  Juarez 8 

III.  El    Paso    Loves   the    Military  —  Refugees 

from  Sonora 15 

IV.  Miners    and    Bandits    and    Weather    Phe- 

nomena    24 

V.  Private  Perry  and  the  Scars  Which  Are  His 
Memoranda — Concerning  T'ranters  and 

Sichlike 31 

VI.  The  Hermit  of  El  Paso 41 

VII.  Hopping  Up  to  Cloudcroft 47 

VIII.  Our  "Starving  Army"  and  Baking  on  the 

Border 53 

IX.  The  Lost  Mine  of  Tayopa 62 

X.  Marianna  Culmanero,  Heap  Big  Indian 

Chief 67 

XI.  Bathing  and  Other  Sports  in  Ysleta 74 

XII.  Justice  Along  the  Rio  Grande 79 

XIII.  Forty  Years  Too  Late 85 

XIV.  Douglas,  Another  Port  of  Entry  to  Mexico  91 
XV.  Bisbee,  the  Hidden  City 101 


Contents 

Chapter  Page 

XVI.  Down  in  Bisbee's  Stomach 107 

XVII.  Nogales,  on  Both  Sides  of  the  Line 113 

XVIII.  A  Trip  Into  Zapata  Land 122 

XIX.  How  Lower  California  Nearly  "Annexed" 

the  United  States 128 

XX.  More  of  Jack  Noonan 135 

XXI.  The  Man  Who  Knew  Mexico  Well 144 

XXII.  Will  the  Militia  Survive? 149 

XXIII.  The  Silent  (? )  Drama  at  McAllen 153 

XXIV.  The  Border  Y.  M.  C.  A 158 

XXV.  Why  the  Army's  Like  a  Serpent 163 

XXVI.  Little  Brown  Muchachos 1 70 

XXVII.   Getting  the  Range  of  the  Texas  Ranger.  .  176 

XXVIII.  The  Lady  of  the  Army 183 

XXIX.  The  Songs  of  the  Seventh 189 

XXX.  Both  Sides  of  the  Army  Pill 194 

XXXI.  Baking  on  the  Border 200 

XXXII.  A  Soldier  of  Fortune  With  Villa 204 

XXXIII.  The  Mexican  Army 211 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Facing  Page 
The  senorita  atones  for  a  multitude  of  sins.    Frontispiece 

All  that  one  now  sees  are  the  lowest  class  of  Mexi- 
cans and  idling  Carranza  soldiers 10 

A  "starving"  militiaman  on  the  border 54 

She  appeared  quite  indifferent  as  to  whether  she  got 

the  money  or  not 70 

Some  stopped  and  stared  at  us 118 

"We  didn't  come  down  here  to  be  a  first  line  of 

defense" 1 5o 

"They  got  us  down  here  so  we  couldn't  vote" 166 

For  once  he  was  unconscious  of  the  admiring  group 

of  seven  that  followed  him  down  the  street. .  .  172 

Looming  above  the  horizon 176 

It  is  not  difficult  to  distinguish  a  Ranger 180 

"The  whole  medical  department  is  a  bunch  of  pills"  196 


CHAPTER  I. 

On  the  Way  to  the  Border  and  the  Unexpectedness  of 

El  Paso. 

It  wasn't  until  I  reached  Texarkana — a  town  which 
being  not  completely  in  Texas  nor  Arkansas  is  not  fish 
nor  is  it  fowl — that  I  realized,  perhaps  in  addition  to  re- 
porting any  news  made  by  Messrs.  Villa  and  Carranza, 
there  might,  after  all,  be  a  further  and  definite  mission 
in  my  trip  to  the  border. 

I  fix  Texarkana  as  the  place  where  I  first  saw 
light  because  it  isn't  until  a  long  way  from  St.  Louis 
that  one  finds  a  noticeable  change  in  the  country,  and 
during  the  deep  watches  of  the  night  I  had  slept  as  no  one 
in  a  far  country  on  a  train  hurdling  countless  switches  has 
a  right  to  sleep. 

My  mission,  to  make  a  long  story  longer,  is  to  correct 
the  misinterpretation  under  which  the  South  has  been 
suffering  since  the  Civil  War  first  brought  it  to  the  atten- 
tion of  its  Northern  brethren. 

There  are  three  things  that  make  the  South-different 
from  any  other  place — cotton,  coons  and  caloric,  and  con- 
cerning them  gross  misrepresentations  have  been  made  to 
the  people  of  such  parts  of  the  country  where  ice  isn't 
jewelry. 

It  is  astonishing  how  much  one  can  learn  of  a  race 
by  observing  it  from  a  train  window.  I  feel  now  as  if  I 
thoroughly  understand  the  Southern  colored  people.  With 


*  .  'Along  ihg  Rio   Grande 

the  knowledge  I  have  become  convinced  that  they  are  not 
as  I  had  been  led  to  believe — lazy,  shiftless  and  thought- 
less. 

Negroes  are  divided  into  two  classes,  those  standing 
and  those  sitting  down.  In  Texas  latitude  1  do  not  be- 
lieve the  walking  negro  exists.  But  standing  or  sitting 
they  show  a  perseverence,  tirelessness  and  a  tender- 
heartedness that  their  pale-faced  brother  (who  isn't  very 
pale  down  here)  might  do  well  to  imitate. 

No  work  is  too  absorbing  for  them  to  drop  when  a 
train  rushes  by.  This  is  due  partly  to  their  desire  to 
obtain  the  wholesome  exercise  of  waving  and  partly  be- 
cause their  kindheartedness  forbids  them  to  allow  the 
traveller  to  speed  onward  toward  God  knows  what  with- 
out some  little  thing  to  lighten  his  way. 

Naturally,  with  the  number  of  trains  that  pass  every 
day,  this  task  of  waving  to  all  of  them  is  no  simple 
one  and  the  Texas  negro  (no  Texan  would  know  him  by 
that  name)  has  reduced  the  operation  to  one  of  the  great- 
est efficiency  (another  quality  with  which  he  has  seldom 
been  justly  accredited).  As  the  train  approaches  his  arm 
is  raised  slowly  in  front.  As  the  train  roars  past 
a  slight  quivering,  like  that  of  an  aspen  leaf,  affects 
the  hand.  This  continues  until  the  train  is  well  by.  His 
arm  again  sinks  back  to  its  normal  position  and  then, 
with  the  wonderful  imagination  which  I  find  a  character- 
istic of  the  colored  workers,  he  stands  motionless,  watch- 
ing the  train  out  of  sight,  wonlering  what  its  destination 
may  be,  what  awaits  the  innocent  travellers  within  and 
whether  God  will  ever  be  kind  enough  to  allow  it  to  return 
past  the  field  in  which  he  is  working.  With  a  sigh 
he  turns  back  to  his  task,  and  if  he  seems  to  be  less 


On    the    Way    to    the   Border  3 

industrious  than  he  should  it  is  not  because  of  any  laziness 
on  his  part. 

Again  it  is  due  to  his  kindheartedness.  He  fears  if 
he  sets  too  hard  a  pace  his  comrades  will  follow  his  ex- 
ample. He  fears  also  their  strength  is  not  equal  to  his 
and  the  thought  makes  him  slow  and  cautious. 

The  other  class,  the  sitting  negro,  is  seen  usually 
in  his  hut,  which  is  perfectly  oblong,  unpainted,  and  has 
on  it  somewhere  or  other  a  porch.  The  sitting  negro  is 
th^jdj^arner^the  planner  of  .his-community.  He  gives 
scant  consideration  to  himself,  but  sits  there,  sits  there 
forever  wondering  how  he  can  be  of  benefit  to  his  fellow- 
men,  wondering  how  he  is  going  to  obtain  a  college 
education  for  those  six  pickanninies  you  see  sprawled  out 
on  the  steps.  At  times  it  might  seem  that  his  black  head, 
which  is  bowed  forward  on  the  white  undershirt,  that 
with  a  pair  of  blue  overalls  complete  his  attire,  is  lost  in 
slumber,  but  those  who  really  understand  him  know  it  is 
merely  the  intensity  of  his  thought  that  gives  this  appear- 
ance. 

My  discoveries  about  the  heat  and  cotton  were  made 
at  almost  the  same  time.  On  my  way  to  the  smoking 
room  I  noticed  that  the  thermometer  stood  at  96  degrees. 
I  thought  no  more  about  it  until,  after  I  had  taken  my 
seat,  a  leathery-faced  individual  attached  to  an  enormous 
brown  cigar  bent  a  challenging  look  upon  me  and  said: 

"Rather  warm,  humh?" 

I  thought  it  best  not  to  argue  about  a  little  matter 
like  96  decrees.  But  the  heat  is  not  oppressive.  Unless 
one  breathes  it  into  his  lungs,  a  process  which  is  apt  to 
scorch  them,  and  thereby  heat  up  his  blood,  he  will  not 
feel  the  effect  of  the  increased  temperature  in  the  least. 


'4  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

I  must  admit,  however,  that  it  gives  one  a  rather  queer 
feeling  to  see  some  pond,  which  has  reached  the  boiling 
point,  steaming  away  out  in  the  cool  green  fields. 

The  heat  results  in  one  being  able  to  procure  hot 
water  in  the  trains  from  the  tap  labelled  "hot,"  but  the 
pleasure  which  one  obtains  from  this  source  is  somewhat 
moderated  by  the  fact  that  hot  water  flows  with  equal 
celerity  from  the  one  with  "cold"  written  thereon. 

As  I  looked  out  of  the  smoker  window  I  saw  an  end- 
less rolling  hill  of  young  plants. 

"Some  potato  field,"  I  remarked  to  my  hot  weather 
friend,  for  I  was  impressed  by  the  extent  of  the  acreage. 

"Them  ain't  potatoes,  they's  cotton,"  he  answered 
more  severely  than  I  thought  necessary. 

Then  I  knew  what  a  tremendous  imposition  is  being- 
practiced  on  the  Northern  States.  That  green  potatoey 
looking  stuff  was  no  more  the  soft  white  material  that  we 
call  cotton  than  an  Alabama  chipmunk  is  like  a  Pome- 
ranian. For  some  mysterious  reason  the  South  has  been 
deceiving  us,  and  before  I  turn  northward  again  I  intend 
to  learn  the  reason. 

El  Paso  is  quite  as  surprising  a  proposition  as  one 
would  wish  to  find.  One  would  expect  after  riding 
through  hundreds  of  miles  of  sun-scorched  cactus,  mes- 
quite  and  rocks,  with  small  quantities  of  alkali  dust  scat- 
tered sparingly  between,  to  come  upon  a  city  in  which 
there  lived  only  those  who  were  blind,  halt  or  without 
interest  in  life  and  what  it  offered. 

The  train  window  gives  little  hint  of  the  produc- 
tivity that  the  land  contiguous  to  El  Paso  really  contains. 
With  little  exception  all  in  sight  is  the  stretch  of  barren 
hills  on  the  other  side  of  the  Rio  Grande  in  Mexico  with 


On    the    Way    to    the   Border  5 

the  equally  barren  Davis  range  on  the  north.  Occasion- 
ally one  sees  herds  of  cattle,  with  a  few  horses  thrown  in 
to  keep  them  company,  roaming  along  in  a  thin,  aimless 
fashion.  They  seem  to  be  continually  searching  for  some- 
thing, which  something  is  doubtless  water  or  a  bite  to  eat, 
for  in  most  of  the  places,  it  requires  forty  acres  of  land 
apiece  to  furnish  them  nourishment,  and  the  water  is  few 
and  far  between. 

A  bridge  is  crossed  and  near  it  are  the  tents  of  the 
soldiers  doing  guard  duty,  and  if  the  trains  are  going 
slowly  enough,  which  is  usually  the  case,  they  yell  to  have 
newspapers  thrown  off  to  them.  For  a  few  minutes  the 
air  is  filled  with  fluttering  white. 

Farther  away,  among  the  green  of  the  mesquite 
along  the  Rio  Grande,  which  is  a  few  miles  distant  from 
the  tracks,  brown  tents  can  just  be  distinguished  from 
time  to  time. 

It  doesn't  take  many  miles  of  this  sort  of  country  to 
cause  one  to  be  startled  when  the  factories,  smelters  and 
other  buildings  burst  out  from  the  plains  just  outside  of 
El  Paso.  The  shock  is  made  somewhat  greater  when  one 
actually  finds  himself  in  the  middle  of  a  city  after  leaving 
the  train.  Seven-story  buildings  are  common  enough,  so 
an  El  Pasoan  can  almost  look  indifferent  when  he  points 
them  out. 

Its  population  is  70,000.  I  had  this  astonishing 
bit  of  information  thrown  at  my  receptive  head  by  a  taxi 
driver,  who,  after  surveying  me  with  a  critical  air,  charged 
me  in  payment  for  his  information  fifty  cents  for  a  ride 
which,  I  was  later  told  should  have  been  "two  bits."  I 
was  advised  that  if  I  wished  I  could  consider  its  numbers 
80,000,  for  with  its  immediately  adjacent  suburbs,  such 


6  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

as  Fort  Bliss,  it  reaches  this  total.  However,  I  didn't  care 
to  do  so,  for  somehow  or  other  I  had  a  feeling  that  it 
would  be  expensive. 

By  judicious  inquiry  I  ascertained  that  the  people 
who  have  settled  in  this  place  are  for  the  most  part,  in 
spite  of  my  previous  fears,  in  full  possession  of  their 
senses  and  could  go  to  other  places  if  they  cared  to  do  so. 
I  did  not  glean  this  from  any  of  the  hackmen.  El  Paso 
js  the  commercial,  mining  and  agricultural  center  of  this 
part  of  Texas.  Long  years  ago,  before  even  the  ex- 
tremely ancient  men  who  are  one  of  the  features  of 
hotel  life  here,  were  attacking  the  slats  on  their  cradles, 
the  Apache  Indians,  with  their  excellent  method  of  regu- 
lating their  household  affairs,  set  their  wives  to  cultivating 
land,  then  rich  and  fertile. 

Along  about  1840,  unless  some  one  has  been  lying 
to  me,  white  men  began  to  outnumber  the  Indians  and 
suggest  that  they  move  elsewhere. 

Several  years  after  this  lumbermen,  by  clearing  off 
the  timber  along  the  Rio  Grande  in  New  Mexico  and 
Arizona,  caused  El  Paso  to  suffer  from  droughts  and 
floods,  according  to  season,  with  a  resultant  damage  to 
farming  conditions.  This  has  all  been  remedied  by  a  tre- 
mendous dam,  the  Elephant  Butte,  recently  built. 
Through  the  irrigation  this  makes  possible  188,000  acres 
of  land  have  been  reclaimed,  48,000  of  which  lie  in 
Texas. 

Near  El  Paso  are  raised  large  quantities  of  cattle, 
alfalfa,  grain  and  other  crops. 

Just  at  present — July,  1916 — the  streets  are  filled 
with  soldiers  and  "greasers,"  the  native  white  population 
sinking  into  insignificance  beside  the  striking  appearance 


'On   the    Way   to   the   Border  7 

of  the  former.  When  the  rest  of  the  National  Guard, 
now  on  its  way,  reaches  El  Paso  there  will  be  75,000 
troops  encamped  in  its  vicinity,  and,  without  including  the 
large  numbers  of  Mexicans  who  have  taken  refuge  there 
to  escape  the  enthusiasms  of  their  kind,  there,  are  20,000 
"greasers"  infesting  the  streets  at  one  time  or  another. 

There  is  the  fear  constantly  stnrpri  a^y  'n  ^he 
back  of  the  El  Pasoan  mind  that  these  Mexicans  will 
take  it  into  their  heads  to  have  a  specially-appointed 
uprising  at  the  expense  of  the  Americans  who  happen  to 
be  in  the  citv  at  the  time.  To  guard  against  this  there 
are  squads  of  soldiers  constantly  doing  guard  duty,  and, 
although  such  an  uprising  might  result  in  the  loss  of  a 
great  many  lives,  it  would  not  require  much  time  to  sup- 
press it.  Not  long  ago,  when  a  large  fire  broke  out  there, 
300  men  came  from  Camp  Cotton  on  their  military 
motorcycles  in  seven  minutes.  It  is  a  distance  of  about 
three  miles.  Thejairmed ^presence  of  so  many  "los  grin- 
gos" has  got  the  Mexicans  pretty  well  subdued,  and  it  is 
not  very  probable,  unless  they  get  a  lot  of  bad  whisky 
packed  away  beneath  their  belts  or  some  of  their  brethren 
from  across  the  river  sally  forth  in  a  raid,  that  they  will 
attempt  any  uprising. 

There  are  many  American  refugees  in  town,  most 
of  them  being  in  the  mining  business,  but,  aside  from 
this,  there  is  very  little  of  what  the  hotel  man  calls  "tran- 
sient trade,"  and  business  is  not  as  good  as  it  usually  is 
at  this  time  of  year,  and  all  possible  attempts  are  bein* 
made  by  the  citizenry  to  make  the  honest  soldier  recom- 
pense them  for  the  misfortune  which  near  war  has  brought 
upon  El  Paso.  Families  of  the  militia  in  particular  will 
doubtless  soon  be  hearing  loud  cries  for  additional  funds. 


CHAPTER  II. 
In  Old  Juarez. 

Like  a  trip  to  Chinatown  to  the  round-eyed  visitor 
who  wishes  to  "see  New  York,"  a  journey  across  the  Rio 
Grande  into  the  Mexican  border  town  of  Juarez  affords 
the  greatest  amount  of  excitement  to  him  who  seeks  thrills 
in  the  town  of  El  Paso. 

Since  the  recently  strained  relations  with  Mexico  all 
Americans  have  been  requested  to  leave  the  city.  All 
that  one  now  sees  over  there  are  the  sullen  brown  faces 
of  the  Mexicans,  the  large  majority  of  whom  are  peons. 
American  Consular  Agent  Edwards  himself  has  departed 
and  is  making  his  headquarters  at  El  Paso. 

I  went  over  upon  my  arrival  in  El  Paso  with  J.  Y. 
Baskin,  a  commission  merchant  who  has  large  interests 
in  Mexico  and  makes  the  trip  across  the  river  daily.  He 
is  rather  skeptical  of  the  amount  of  danger  involved. 

"If  a  person  keeps  cober  and  minds  his  own  business 
there  is  no  reason  at  all  why  he  should  have  any  trouble 
with  the  Mexicans.  Farther  in  it  might  be  different,  but 
in  Juarez  a  drunken  native  and  possible  arrest  are  the  chief 
things  to  avoid." 

We  drove  out  in  a  machine  along  South  Santa  Fe 
street,  which  rapidly  changes  in  character  from  the  low 
business  buildings  near  El  Paso  to  the  adobe  houses  of  the 
peons,  almost  the  only  persons  to  be  found  in  that  part  of 
^  town,  which  is  known  as  the  Chihuahua  District.  The 
bridge  leading  over  the  Rio  Grande  to  the  Mexican  town 

8 


In    Old   Juarez  9 

is  reached  and  on  the  American  side  are  groups  of  militia, 
part  of  whom  are  acting  as  a  patrol  and  the  rest  there 
merely  from  a  desire  to  look  across  at  the  "greasers"  on 
the  other  side  and  dream  of  a  battle  with  them,  which  is 
far  too  slow,  in  their  eyes,  in  coming. 

Our  car  was  stopped  and  the  guards  searched  under 
the  seats  to  make  sure  that  nothing  illegal  was  taken  to 
the  other  side.  At  the  farther  end  of  the  bridge  we  halted 
again  to  obtain  permission  from  the  Mexican  patrol  to 
proceed  into  the  city. 

It  js  hard  to  adjust  oneself  at  first to.  the  sudden 

jump  from  the  busy,  noisy,  prosperous  El  Paso  to  the 
sleepy,  penniless  city  of  starving  .peons.  It  has  changed 
from  the  riotous  town  of  gambling  and  vice  that  it  was 
a  few  years  ago.  All  that  one  now  sees  in  the  streets  are 
the  lowest  class  of  Mexicans  and  hundreds  of  idling  Car- 
ranza  soldiers  who  are  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  fight  and 
take  their  chance  of  being  killed  in  return  for  food  and 
Carranza  money,  even  though  the  latter  is  practically 
worthless,  except  in  payment  for  express,  railroad  fare 
and  telegraph  tolls. 

The  Silver  King,  the  Cafe  Negro,  the  Big  Kid,  the 
Tivoli,  the  Mexican  Monte  Carlo  and  the  Black  Cat  Dance 
Hall,  which  Jack  London  described  as  the  most  depraved 
in  the  country,  are  no  longer  the  scenes  of  activity  that 
they  were  when  Villa  tucked  away  in  his  jeans  $80,000 
monthly  from  the  vice  concessions.  In  those  good  old 
days  that  ingenious  bandit  added  to  his  income  by  slap- 
ping on  a  revenue  tax  on  all  liquor  except  that  which  he 
had  freighted  over  the  river  at  night. 

A  murder  was  a  small  matter  in  the  Black  Cat  An 
El  Pasoan  recalls  one  night  there  when  two  stabbings  took 


10  'Along  the  Rio  Grande 

place.  The  victims  were  carried  out  to  the  street  and  the 
dancing  never  stopped. 

Even  when  times  were  less  troubled  than  at  present 
Juarez  frequently  proved  a  trifle  too  exciting  for 
American  citizens.  A  party  of  newspaper  men  from  this 
city  were  once  sitting  in  the  Cafe  Negro  peacefully  sipping 
their  drinks.  At  a  table  across  the  room  was  a  big, 
swarthy  Mexican  with  two  senoritas.  A  note  was  handed 
to  one  of  the  women  and  instantly  the  Mexican  snatched 
it  away  and  demanded  who  sent  it.  She  nodded  toward 
the  door,  which  happened  to  be  in  the  direction  of  the 
journalists,  though  all  had  easy  consciences.  The  Mex- 
ican singled  out  one  of  the  group  as  the  guilty  party  and 
the  first  inkling  the  latter  had  of  the  excitement  created 
was  the  blurred  vision  of  a  vase  hurtling  by  his  head  pro- 
pelled by  the  senorita's  champion.  Happily  his  aim 
was  as  bad  as  his  intentions.  The  Mexican  quickly  fol- 
lowed the  vase  and  in  a  couple  of  seconds  was  standing 
over  the  American  with  a  gun  pressed  tightly  against  his 
victim's  stomach,  demanding  an  explanation. 

"It  was  the  longest  three  minutes  I  ever  had,"  said 
the  newspaper  man  in  speaking  about  it  to  me.  "I  had 
my  doubts  whether  I  would  be  able  to  convince  him  that 
my  actions  had  been  perfectly  innocent. 

"On  another  occasion  we  stepped  into  the  entrance 
to  one  of  the  places  and  stumbled  over  a  sleeping  guard. 

"'Carajo!  Quien  vive!'  he  cried  and  sank  on  one 
knee,  raising  his  rifle.  My  friend  gasped.  'My  God,1  he 
cried  with  the  clearness  of  vision  that  frequently  comes  to 
one  who  has  had  as  much  to  drink  as  he  had,  'when  they 
drop  on  one  knee  like  that  they  mean  to  shoot/  He  was 
probably  right,  but  at  that  moment  an  officer  fortunately 


All  one  now  sees  are  the  lowest  class  of    Mexicans    and 
idling  Carranza  soldiers. 


In   Old  Juarez  11 

came  running  up  and  gave  the  order  to  cease  firing.  We 
hurried  back  to  El  Paso  where  we  belonged." 

Thejnside  of  the  custom  house  is  decorafcd  with 
pictures  of  Mexican  notables.  Each  new  faction  in  power 
tears  down  those  of  the  persons  of  whom  they  do  not 
approve  and  substitutes  for  them  their  own  pet  idols. 

The  old  bull  ring  has  been  burned,  although  fights 
can  still  be  held  in  it.  It  was  fired  when  the  Maderistas 
took  the  town  in  1911  and  the  industrious  Mexicans  in 
the  intervening  five  years  have  been  unable  to  assemble 
either  enough  energy  or  money  to  rebuild  it.  The  ruins 
are  still  standing  of  Kettleson  &  Degetau's  wholesale 
hardware  house,  the  railroad  station,  the  custom  house 
and  the  post  office  building  which  were  fired  in  the  same 
year.  Most  of  the  other  places  have  been  patched  up  or 
completely  torn  down. 

Throughout  all  the  trouble  that  the  place  has  seen, 
the  impressive  white  cement  Mission  Guadalupe,  which 
is  flanked  by  squatty  Mexican  places  of  business,  and  the 
big  Juarez  racetrack  have  remained  untouched,  the  former 
probably  because  of  superstition,  and  the  latter  through 
a  healthy  respect  of  the  Mexican  for  the  $100,000  a  year 
paid  for  the  racing  concession  and  the  resultant  crowds 
which  it  has  brought  in  the  past. 

Although  I  was  unable  to  go  inside  of  it  I  am  told 
thai  the  interior  of  the  cathedral  is  unique.  The  primitive 
mind  of  the  Mexican  being  unable  to  conceive  of  Christ 
in^any^  but  a  material  way  have  a  score  or  more  realistic 
wax  figures  of  Him  that  are  revolting  in  their  vividness. 
Some  depict  Him  in  a  coffin,  others  with  blood  dripping 
from  wounds — all  of  them  offensive  to  those  accustomed 
to  milder  methods  of  representation. 


18  'Along  the  Rio  Grande 

Several  long-necked  chickens,  lean  from  nervousness 
caused  by  thieving  neiehbors,  scurried  away  from  in  front 
of  us,  complaining  at  the  hardness  of  fate.  Some  optimis- 
tic Mexican  had  planted  a  small  patch  of  corn  on  one  of 
the  streets.  How  much  his  hungry  friends  will  leave  for 
him  when  it  is  ready  for  picking  is  problematical. 

House  after  house  of  adobe  and  a  few  of  brick  we 
passed.  Peeking  out  at  the  Gringos  from. the  doors,  or 
running  around  barefooted  or  naked  in  front  of  them 
were  swarms  of  muchachos — the  Mexican  family  has 
much  in  common  with  the  rabbit. 

In  one  yard  we  saw  a  rare  sight,  a  woman  with  the 
inevitable  black  shawl  over  her  head,  giving  her  little 
brown  nino  a  bath.  The  sad  part  of  it  was  the  baby  was 
too  young  ever  to  recall  the  event.  A  little  further  along, 
on  the  banks  of  the  irrigation  canal,  a  few  hardy  youths 
of  twelve  were  stripped  for  a  swim.  Bathing  suits  are  not 
a  civic  requirement. 

A  few  hopeful  street  vendors,  whom  none  seemed  to 
favor  with  a  great  deal  of  attention,  strolled  up  the  street. 
One  with  a  basket  of  cakes  was  telling  those  who  cared  to 
listen:  "Oh,  que  bueno,  lo  que  traigo  ahora."  ("Get 
next  to  the  good  stuff  I've  got  with  me  to-day.")  An  old 
man  with  a  black  beard  on  one  half  of  his  chin,  a  few 
teeth,  a  red  shirt  and  wearing  sandals,  hovered  anxiously 
over  a  haphazard  goat.  In  a  voice  that  once  miglu  have 
been  musical  he  cried:  "Fresco  leche."  If  you  or  I  had 
been  doing  it  we  would  have  said:  "Fresh  milk,"  and 
meant  about  the  same  thing.  The  worthy  Juarez  citizen 
has  the  goat  milked  before  his  eyes  and  is  sure  that  he  is 
getting  it  new. 

Juarez  is  conveniently  located  for  the  residents  of 


In  Old  Juarea  13 

El  Paso  who  wish  to  watch  the  battles  which  are  not  as 
uncommon  as  they  should  be  over  there.  A.  F.  Haynes, 
a  railroad  man  of  this  city,  described  to  me  the  fight  when 
Maedro's  forces  took  Juarez  from  those  of  Diaz  in  1911. 

"I  was  up  in  the  tower  of  the  El  Paso  station  when 
they  began  to  fire,"  he  said.  "I  could  see  the  puffs  of 
smoke  and  hear  the  faint  cracks  from  the  rifles  of  Ma- 
dero's  men,  led  by  Generals  Orosco  and  Blanco.  At  the 
time  Madero  himself  was  stopping  at  the  Sheldon  Hotel, 
in  this  city,  when  word  was  brought  to  him  of  the  engage- 
ment. He  jumped  into  a  big  red  automobile  and  dashed 
up  Santa  Fe  street  far  up  the  river,  .where  he  crossed  over. 
He  wished  his  men  to  surrender,  and  he  sent  a  bearer  with 
a  flag  of  truce  on  a  snow-white  horse. 

"He  rode  toward  the  line  of  Maderistas.  Through 
the  glasses  I  saw  one  of  the  men  rise  up.  There  was  a 
spurt  of  smoke  and  the  rider  dropped  from  his  horse.  His 
assassin  didn't  wish  the  forces  he  was  with  to  surrender 
at  this  time.  The  rest  of  the  troops,  thinking  the  flag  bear- 
er had  been  shot  by  some  one  on  the  other  side,  were  furi- 
ous and  went  on  with  the  attack  more  frenziedly  than 
ever.  The  city  was  taken  later. 

"The  next  year  Villa  captured  the  town  with  a  single 
cannon  shot,  after  which  the  white  flag  was  run  up  at 
Juarez  and  the  place  surrendered.  It  was  following  this 
that  Villa  held  the  executions  which  shocked  the  United 
States  so  much.  Ammunition  was  scarce.  To  save  it  he 
lined  his  prisoners  up  seven  deep  in  front  of  the  wall  and 
turned  the  machine  guns  on  them." 

Everywhere  we  went  we  saw  evidences  of  the  con- 
stant state  of  war  in  which  the  country  of  Mexico  exists. 
Cavalrymen,  all  Carranzistas,  some  with  new  suits  and 


14  Along   the  Rio   Grande 

some  with  nothing  but  their  usual  flannel  shirts,  chaps  and 
sombreros,  rode  up  the  street  on  horses  that  had  doubtless 
been  stolen.  We  passed  places  of  business,  with  armed 
Mexicans  sitting  on  the  steps  outside,  and  through  numer- 
ous doors  piles  of  guns  could  be  seen  within. 

It  is  quite  doubtful,  unless  the  situation  clears  greatly 
the  coming  months,  whether  Juarez  will  be  restored  to  its 
usual  gay  activity.  The  track  will  probably  remain  closed. 
Tourists  will  not  dare  nor  be  permitted  to  visit  there  un- 
less some  sort  of  order  is  brought  about  in  Mexico,  which 
at  present  seems  extremely  doubtful.  Without  racing  and 
the  tourists  the  other  places  will  remain  closed  and 
Juarez  will  remain  the  same  sleepy,  famine-ridden,  op- 
pressed city  it  now  is. 


CHAPTER  III. 
El  Paso  Loves  the  Military — Refugees  From  Sonora. 

Men  in  number  sufficiently  great  to  wipe  out  the 
entire  Mexican  army,  should  the  gentlemen  decide  to 
advance  on  this  city  in  a  body,  are  stationed  at  or  near 
El  Paso.  In  July  there  were  more  than  28,000  soldiers 
from  the  States  of  Pennsylvania,  Massachusetts,  Rhode 
Island  and  Michigan,  with  enough  more  expected  to  raise 
the  number  to  50,000.  In  no  matter  what  direction  one 
travels  from  the  city,  whether  it  is  to  Camps  Pershing, 
Stewart,  Cotton  and  Fort  Bliss  or  along  the  border, 
their  yellow  khaki  tents  are  bunched  in  all  parts  of  the 
landscape. 

El  Paso  rejoices,  for  a  soldier's  money — when  he 
has  it — is  noted  for  its  inability  to  stay  in  his  pocket.  The 
town  for  many  years  has  been  prosperous,  but  it  has  now 
reached  the  ultra-wealthy  stage.  It  is  catching  the 
shekels  as  they  fall.  There  is  every  evidence  that  it  will 
be  many  months  before  the  troops  are  recalled,  since 
the  chances  for  any  conflict  with  Mexico  seem  extremely 
remote,  though  the  danger  constantly  threatens. 

The  only  thing  that  up  to  the  time  I  visited  there 
in  July  had  thrown  a  hint  of  shadow  into  the  situation 
was  the  fact  that  many  of  the  militia  had  run  out  of 
funds.  El  Paso  is  a  city  of  extremely  high  prices — one 
that  would  make  New  York  blush  for  its  amateurish- 
ness. Many  of  the  State  militia  had  not  yet  received 
their  pay.  The  First  Pennsylvania  Brigade,  for  instance, 

15 


16  'Along  the  Rio  Gran&g 

did  not  draw  any  recompense  until  July  19,  which  was 
for  the  latter  part  of  June  only. 

However,  in  spite  of  this,  El  Paso  is  doing  very 
well  and  a  large  number  of  the  visitors  in  town  are  those 
who  have  heard  of  the  good  news  and  have  come  to 
take  advantage  of  their  opportunities. 

Camps  Cotton,  Pershing  and  Fort  Bliss  are  situated 
near  the  lines  which  run  into  town.  The  cars  are  jammed 
at  all  hours  of  the  day  with  soldiers  coming  to  the  city. 
Those  at  Camp  Stewart — the  Fourth,  Eighth  and  Sixth 
Pennsylvania  Infantry  and  the  First  Pennsylvania  Cav- 
alry— are  not  so  fortunate,  as  their  location  is  eight  miles 
from  El  Paso,  with  no  trolley  at  hand.  It  means  a  long, 
hot  hike  for  them  through  the  alkali  dust  or  an  occasional 
lift  from  one  of  their  trucks,  for  which  no  bodies  have 
yet  been  received. 

At  every  corner  a  fakir  of  some  sort  awaits  their 
arrival.  "Impromptu"  auction  sales  are  held  on  the 
street.  Some  "rancher"  who  has  suddenly  discovered  a 
pressing  need  for  funds  is  willing  to  sacrifice  several 
precious  rings  which  he  happens  to  have  with  him,  for 
whatever  they  will  bring.  The  unfortunate  man  sells 
them,  too,  but  before  he  puts  up  the  next  ring  with  the 
little  white  stone  in  it,  which  volunteer  experts  pronounce 
a  flawless  diamond,  he  thoroughly  impresses  it  upon  the 
purchaser  he  has  practically  committed  a  robbery  by  not 
having  paid  more. 

If  gold  at  panic  rates  fails  to  lure  the  militiaman 
he  can  go  a  little  further  down  Mills  street  to  purchase 
from  a  "first  cousin  of  Villa"  a  handsomely  burnished 
set  of  horns  which,  when  lung  power  is  applied  to  one 
extremity,  will  emit  a  low,  moaning  noise  calculated  to 


El  Paso  Loves  the  Military  17 

conjure  before  the  eyes  of  the  people  back  home  a  vivid 
picture  of  the  bold,  bad  West  in  which  their  son  has  been 
camping. 

The  seven  motion  picture  shows  are  "turning  them 
away,"  both  in  the  daytime  and  at  night,  for,  in  spite 
of  the  heat,  the  picture  proprietors  manage  to  keep  their 
theatres  cool. 

In  their  wildest  dreams  the  saloons  foresaw  no  such 
days  as  these,  although  it  is  seldom  that  one  finds  a 
drunken  soldier  on  the  streets.  El  Paso  is  not  dry — far 
from  it — except  after  9.30  at  night  and  on  Sunday.  If 
an  overpowering  desire  for  demon  rum  still  attacks  one 
at  these  times  it  does  not  require  an  unusual  degree  of 
ingenuity  to  obtain  it.  It  is  possible,  for  a  nominal  sum, 
to  join  any  one  of  several  drinking  clubs  such  as  'The 
Cactus"  or  "The  Wigwam"  and  quench  your  thirst  as 
thoroughly  as  your  bankroll  will  permit. 

The  hotels  and  restaurants  are  filled  at  every  meal 
with  Uncle  Sam's  boys  in  khaki.  Most  of  them  are  either 
officers  or  militiamen,  for  the  regular,  as  a  general  rule, 
has  no  outside  allowance  upon  which  to  draw.  The 
army  pay  without  artificial  aid  will  not  permit  of  a  too 
excessively  pampered  life,  a  fact  which  does  not  entirely 
abolish  the  rivalry  existing  between  the  two  branches  of 
the  service. 

El  Paso,  as  it  is  about  4,000  feet  up  in  the  air  and 
has  a  dry  climate,  is  an  excellent  place  for  consumptives. 
As  a  result  one  does  not  meet  the  typ-e  of  New  York 
panhandler  who  tells  you  he  only  needs  ten  cents  more 
to  have  enough  carfare  to  leave  the  city.  Instead  he 
appeals  to  one's  sympathies  by  saying  that  he  is  a  lunger 
and  unable  to  work. 


18  Along   the  Rio   Grande 

At  some  stands  more  than  2,000  postal  cards 
depicting  all  the  gruesomeness  of  the  Mexican  atrocities 
(few  others  are  popular)  are  sold  a  day,  and  one  of 
the  local  dealers  was  recently  seen  pricing  automobiles 
in  a  salesroom.  The  photograph  which  has  proved  the 
favorite  is  one  showing  a  Villa  victim  just  dropping 
after  having  been  riddled  by  the  bullets  of  the  firing  squad. 
Doubtless  half  of  the  squad  missed  their  man,  but  if  one 
looks  closely  (the  picture  is  very  clear)  one  can  plainly 
see  the  bloody  effect  of  several  of  the  missiles.  Another 
equalling  it  is  one  of  the  Santa  Ysabel  victims.  Many 
Eastern  families  who  have  heretofore  been  in  doubt  about 
the  safety  of  their  boys  at  the  border  will  be  greatly 
cheered  by  the  receipt  of  the  photographs. 

"Dan,"  the  proprietor  of  a  shooting  gallery,  has 
been  taking  in  $30  a  day,  as  opposed  to  $15  when  his 
place  was  on  a  peace  footing.  He  has  lived  in  El  Paso, 
he  told  me,  for  eleven  years,  but  has  never  been  beyond 
San  Antonio  street,  about  five  blocks  from  his  establish- 
ment. 

I  laid  down  the  rifle  at  his  range  after  six  shots  that 
would  have  convinced  any  one  that  the  Mexican  bandits 
had  nothing  to  fear  from  me.  He  evidently  was  under 
the  impression  that  after  the  exhibition  I  had  made  I 
would  be  wishing  to  leave  hurriedly,  and  it  did  not  suit 
his  purpose.  He  had  news  of  great  importance.  It  was 
necessary  that  he  confide  in  some  one. 

"Say,"  he  said,  "I  have  been  working  in  this 

*    *    place  for  eleven  years.     After  I  get 

through  working  some  more  in  a  photograph  studio — 
sixteen  hours  a  day  all  told,  I  go  to  bed.  I've  been 
makin'  pretty  good  money  these  last  six  weeks  and  in 


El  Paso  Loves  the  Military  19 

a  few  more  months  I  take  a  vacation.    I'm  going  to  leave 
this  city  and  stay  a  year." 

He  then  went  into  details  of  what  he  would 
do  on  his  vacation.  The  neighboring  towns  will  shortly 
receive  an  object  lesson  in  how  a  spender  and  his 
money  are  separated,  and  Dan  will  no  longer  be  able  to 
boast  of  San  Antonio  street  as  the  boundary  line  of  his 
circulation. 

Several  Mexicans  have  been  making  $10  a  day  or 
more  selling  puppies,  which  are  bought  for  company  mas- 
cots. A  slight  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  these  transaction? 
can  be  obtained  when  one  reflects  that  in  the  native  cur- 
rency of  these  gentlemen,  this  means  about  $50,000  a 
day.  Then,  too,  there  are  Mexican  fleas  (they  have  an 
unlimited  supply  on  which  to  work),  completely  clothed 
by  Mexican  convicts  unable  to  clothe  themselves;  like- 
wise the  Indian  blankets,  trinkets  and  silverware  manu- 
factured in  Boston,  which  can  be  had  for  the  equivalent  of 
a  song  (sung  by  Caruso  or  some  other  high  priced  artist). 

All  these  things  considered,  it  were  better  that  the 
remittances  come  in  a  little  faster. 

Nine  American  refugees  who  had  been  stopping  in 
El  Paso  until  it  was  feasible  for  them  to  return  to  their 
work  in  Cananea  received  word  on  July  1 6  from  the  com- 
panies by  which  they  are  employed  to  report  back  in  that 
city.  They  started  for  Naco  the  following  night,  from 
which  point  they  were  to  cross  the  border  about  thirty 
miles  into  the  State  of  Sonora,  in  which  Cananea  is  lo- 
cated. Those  who  returned  were  A.  C.  Henry,  J.  K. 
Griffith,  E.  Jackson,  A.  Thomas  Nearing,  J.  A.  Ramsey, 
R.  L.  Thompson,  Charles  Townsend  and  Jim  Newton,  all 
in  the  mining  business. 


20  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

It  was  only  three  weeks  before  that  hundreds  from 
Bliss,  Douglas  and  neighboring  towns  were  crowded  about 
the  Naco  railroad  station  awaitine  the  arrival  of  these  per- 
sons, half  of  whom  were  believed  to  have  been  massacred 
by  the  Mexicans.  The  train  bearing  them  from  Cananea 
was  four  hours  late,  and  the  fear  that  they  had  been  mur- 
dered en  route  grew  in  the  minds  of  those  who  were  ex- 
pectine  them. 

Nearly  a  thousand  men  had  pledeed  themselves  to 
£0  in  armed  and  get  them  if  they  failed  to  come.  Those 
who  could  not  be  carried  by  the  hundred  autos  provide^ 
for  the  expedition  intended  to  go  on  foot,  but  they  would 
only  have  returned  with  the  dead  bodies  if  there  had  been 
any  treachery  on  the  part  of  the  Mexicans. 

I  spoke  with  one  of  the  men  who  had  been  on  this 
train,  but  he  did  not  wish  his  name  used  in  connection  with 
the  story,  as  the  Mexicans  maintain  a  bureau  in  Washing- 
ton which  sends  to  all  parts  of  their  country  clippings  of 
any  comments  made.  If  an  American  criticizes  Mexico 
or  its  people  he  is  "thirty-threed" — that  is,  he  is  told 
that  his  presence  is  no  longer  desired  by  that  nation,  and 
he  will  never  be  allowed  to  return.  This  is  provided  for 
by  Article  33  in  the  Mexican  Constitution,  which 
says  any  undesirable  foreigner  may  be  exiled.  For 
those  who  have  built  up  their  business  there,  it  is  a 
serious  matter. 

'Three  weeks  ago,*'  said  the  refugee  with  whom  I 
was  speaking,  ''everything  was  comparatively  quiet,  if 
Mexico  can  ever  be  called  quiet,  until  word  was  received 
by  the  Jefe  Politico,  the  Mayor  of  Cananea,  of  Wilson's 
note  to  Carranza.  A  telegram  to  the  Jefe  followed  in 
which  it  was  said :  'It  is  your  duty  as  true  Mexican  citizens 


El  Paso  Loves  the  Military  21 

to  arm  and  repel  this  invasion.'  Immediately  the  town 
was  like  a  beehive. 

'The  dispatch  was  read  in  a  motion  picture  theatre, 
in  which  I  happened  to  be  at  the  time,  and  the  dance  hall. 
All  Americans  were  told  to  go  to  their  homes  and  the 
Mexicans  were  commanded  to  go  to  the  Municipal  Palace, 
where  they  would  receive  rifles.  In  an  hour,  in  addition 
to  the  regular  garrison,  3,000  men  were  in  arms. 

"On  the  streets  the  men  could  be  heard  crying, 
'Mueran  los  gringoes' — 'kill  the  Americans' — and  it 
needed  but  a  spark  to  set  off  the  powder. 

"That  night  twelve  men,  unable  to  obtain  convey- 
ances of  any  sort,  and  leaving  all  of  their  baggage  behind, 
hiked  for  the  border  and  fortunately  got  there  in  safety. 
One  of  the  men  carried  an  8-year-old  boy  all  the  way. 
On  the  other  side  it  was  said  that  the  youngster  had  been 
killed. 

"One  auto  containing  women  tried  to  leave.  It  was 
fired  on  by  the  guards.  The  motor  was  turned  back  and 
the  fugitives  forced  to  return  to  their  homes. 

"The  next  day  the  excitement  died.  Several  ob- 
tained machines  and  left  in  safety,  but  on  the  following 
day  the  agitation  was  renewed.  Americans  there  were 
under  the  impression  war  had  been  declared,  that  Pershing 
and  Trevino  had  been  in  a  big  engagement  and  El  Paso 
had  been  fired  on  by  Juarez  and  the  capture  of  the  latter 
had  followed. 

"All  the  Americans  were  told  by  the  American  con- 
sular agent  to  leave  immediately.  General  Plutarco  Calles 
announced  that  an  armed  train  had  been  provided  for  the 
transportation  of  all  of  the  Americans  the  next  day  at  2 
o'clock  and  that  they  must  go.  He  also  sent  word  to  the 


22  rAlong  the  Rio  Grande 

Jefe  Politico  of  Cananea  that  the  people  must  be  allowed 
to  depart  unharmed. 

"The  actions  of  the  natives  were  fierce  and  sullen. 
Relations  were  strained  almost  to  the  breaking  point.  You 
can  imagine  our  feelings  when  an  Englishman  at  the  hotel 
there  'sicked'  his  dog  on  a  Mexican  cur  out  in  the  street 
and  the  two  began  to  fight.  An  armed  guard  in  a  rage 
raised  his  £un  to  shoot,  but  fortunately  the  dogs  stopped 
and  the  gun  was  agfain  lowered.  A  smaller  thing  than  this 
might  have  meant  the  death  of  all  of  us,  however,  and 
the  language  in  which  we  addressed  the  pompous  Britisher 
was  colored  accordingly. 

"I  had  been  warned  privately  by  the  nephew  of  Gov- 
ernor Calles  not  to  take  the  train.  He  feared  that  those 
in  it  would  never  reach  the  border  alive.  There  was  no 
other  way  out,  and  so  with  the  rest  I  piled  in  it  the  fof- 
lowins:  day  at  2.  My  fears  were  increased  when  I  saw 
that  all  the  women  had  been  placed  in  a  separate  car,  in 
which  the  men  were  not  allowed  to  enter.  In  Mexico 
that  is  apt  to  mean  only  one  thing,  but  it  was  too  late 
for  any  of  us  to  adopt  other  plans. 

"It  seemed  years  before  we  reached  Naco.  When 
we  did  the  people  all  stared  at  us  as  if  we  had  come  from 
the  tomb.  Most  of  us  had  been  reported  killed. 

"In  about  three  months,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of 
gloomy  fatalism,  "we'll  all  be  chased  out  again.  Each 
time  we  are  treated  with  more  contempt  and  it  is  a  more 
ticklish  proposition.  I  should  not  be  in  the  least  surprised 
if  a  good  many  of  us  would  be  killed  this  trip." 

He  said  it  with  such  conviction  that  I  asked  him  why 
it  was  he  went  back  if  he  believed  conditions  were  still  so 
dangerous  and  unsettled. 


El  Paso  Loves   the  Military  23 

He  turned  to  me  with  a  face  from  which  the  bitter- 
ness departs  only  when  he  smiles,  and  said:  "I  hate  it 
worse  than  I  can  tell  you.  I  value  my  life  as  much  as 
any  one  else,  and  the  one  who  tells  you  he  doesn't  know 
what  fear  means,  is  a  liar.  But  I've  got  to  earn  a  living 
and  this  is  the  only  way  I  am  able  to  do  so,  even 
though  the  Washington  Administration  is  unwilling  to  give 
protection  to  its  citizens  across  the  border." 


V 


CHAPTER  IV. 
Miners  and  Bandits  and  Weather  Phenomena. 

El  Paso  possesses  no  village  grocery  store  where 
stories  are  swapped  over  the  cracker  boxes,  but  its  assay 
and  real  estate  offices  serve  the  same  purpose.  There,  at 
almost  any  time  of  the  day,  one  may  drop  in  and  find  men 
exchanging  yarns  of  their  experiences  in  Mexico  and 
along  the  border.  The  strange  part  of  it  is  their 
tales  are  usually  true,  for  in  this  part  of  the  United  States 
fate  plays  such  strange  tricks  on  its  victims  it  is  en- 
tirely unnecessary  for  him  to  embroider  them  upon  rela- 
tion. As  a  rule,  too,  the  men  possess  an  unconscious 
modesty  that  leads  them  to  minimize  their  adventures  in- 
stead of  exaggerating.  They  are  merely  recounted  as  one 
would  in  the  East  tell  of  a  visit  to  the  theatre. 

1  dropped  into  the  offices  of  W.  H.  Austin,  who  came 
to  this  city  in  1882,  when  it  was  nothing  but  a  group  of 
adobe  houses  and  a  few  ranches.  Since  that  time  he  has 
been  accumulating  and  disposing  of  real  estate  until  he 
controls  nearly  one-sixth  of  all  the  ground  in  and  adjacent 
to  this  city.  There  I  found  a  group  listening  to  the  story 
of  Norton  Hand,  who  two  weeks  ago  came  out  of  Mexico 
under  a  military  escort,  the  only  survivor  of  three  white 
men  and  four  Mexican  bandits  who  fired  away  at  each 
other  at  a  range  of  fifty  feet  until  Hand  alone  remained. 

Norton  Hand  is  a  specimen  typical  of  the  country 
where  a  man  is  not  judged  by  his  clothes.  His  face  is  the 
color  of  a  leather  bag  grown  old  in  service.  His  eyes 

24 


Miners  and  Bandits.  85 

are  a  keen,  light  blue.  He  had  a  rolling  straw  hat,  such 
as  we  are  accustomed  to  see  on  farmers  in  caricatures. 
His  shirt,  light  brown,  with  no  tie,  had  evidently  been  his 
one  best  friend  for  many  years.  A  pair  of  old  gray  trou- 
sers, for  which  neither  belt  nor  suspenders  were  deemed 
a  necessity,  and  a  pair  of  old  boots  completed  an  attirs 
that  at  no  time  could  have  weighed  heavily  upon  his  mind. 
Last  year  he  dug  out  from  his  mine  in  Sonora  $85,000 
in  gold,  and  a  short  time  ago  purchased  a  ranch  for  which 
he  paid  $55,000. 

Two  months  before  my  conversation  with  him,  Mr. 
Hand  had  started  out  for  his  mine  near  Magdalena,  a  small 
town  in  the  State  of  Sonora,  about  eighty  miles  from  the 
border. 

"He  was  in  here  the  morning  he  left,"  said  Mr.  Aus- 
tin, "and  I  told  him  he  would  be  lucky  if  he  came  back 
alive,  because  I  knew  that  if  a  Mexican  gets  a  chance  to 
shoot  a  man  when  he  is  at  a  disadvantage  and  there  are 
no  witnesses  around,  he  will  do  it." 

"Well,"  drawled  Hand,  and  the  memory  of  his  es- 
cape seemed  mildly  to  amuse  him,  "you  was  pretty  near 
right,  but  there  I  was  and  here  I  am.  But  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  one  thing — that  all  the  gold  in  the  world 
isn't  any  good  to  a  dead  man,  and  there  is  a  perfectly  good 
mine  down  in  Sonora  belonging  to  me  that  any  one  can 
have  that  wants." 

After  Hand  had  been  down  there  about  a  month  he 
was  coming  along  the  trail  from  his  mine  to  Magdalena 
with  his  two  partners,  Parks  and  Dickson.  At  a  particu- 
larly desolate  point  in  the  trail  four  bandits  rode  suddenly 
from  behind  the  mesquite  bushes  in  front  and  told  them 
to  hold  up  their  hands. 


26  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

"We  all  knew  what  that  meant,"  said  Hand.  "If 
we  dismounted  quietly  and  did  as  we  were  told,  one  of 
the  greasers  would  come  over  and  place  all  our  guns  in  a 
neat  pile.  The  rest  would  stand  us  up  in  a  row  and  shoot 
us  one  by  one.  Perhaps  they  would  not  even  bother  about 
the  row,  but  they  would  kill  us  anyway. 

"None  of  us  cared  for  the  program.  We  preferred 
to  take  a  more  active  part  in  the  party.  We  got  off  our 
horses  on  the  far  side  of  the  Mexicans,  and  as  we  jumped 
we  dragged  our  carbines  out  of  their  holsters.  Poor  old 
Greene  got  his  the  first  crack  out  of  the  box.  A  bullet 
caught  him  in  the  jaw  and  went  through  the  back  of  his 
head.  He  doubled  forward  with  a  gasp  and  only  two  of 
us  were  left. 

"Dickson  was  a  little  bit  rattled,  I  think.  He  wasn't 
shooting  good — he  was  pumpin'  too  quick  and  wild.  In 
a  couple  of  seconds  he  was  drilled  in  three  places,"  he 
pointed  to  a  spot  in  the  center  of  his  chest,  one  in  the 
abdomen  and  another  below  the  heart.  "I  saw  his  gun 
wobblin'  after  that  and  he  sank  down  to  his  knees.  His 
last  shot  was  his  best.  He  made  it  from  the  hip  and  got 
his  man  square  through  the  heart.  The  Mex  screamed  and 
ran  about  ten  feet  before  he  fell  on  his  face  dead. 

"It  was  all  over  in  a  jiffy,  but  while  it  lasted  the 
bullets  came  so  close  to  my  head  I  could  feel  their  heat." 

After  a  hasty  mental  calculation  I  figured  that  there 
were  two  Mexicans  as  yet  unaccounted  for  and  asked: 

"How  about  the  other  two?  " 

"They  died,"  he  said  briefly.  I  later  learned  from 
Mr.  Austin  that  during  all  the  years  he  had  known  Hand  he 
could  never  be  induced  to  say  how  many  Mexicans  he  had 
killed.  Whether  it  was  because  he  considered  it  boasting 


Miners  and  Bandits  87 

or  because  he  disliked  to  recall  the  tragedies  I  do  not 
know,  although  I  am  much  inclined  to  believe  it  was  the 
former. 

"After  I  got  into  Magdalena,  I  had  to  walk,  for  all 
of  the  horses  had  been  either  shot  or  had  run  away,"  he 
continued.  "I  was  arrested  and  chucked  into  jail.  They 
took  my  clothes  and  money  and  kept  me  there  for  three 
days.  I  wasn't  treated  badly,  but  they  made  me  pay  for 
everything  they  handed  me  at  prices  which  did  credit  to 
their  imagination.  At  the  end  of  that  time  they  give  me 
back  #115—1  had  #520  to  start  with.  Why  they  did  it 
I  don't  know,  because  it's  contrary  to  all  Mexican  prece- 
dent. 

"A  military  guard  took  me  to  the  border.  We 
weren't  allowed  to  pass  through  any  of  the  towns.  The 
peons  all  swore  at  us  and  threatened  to  murder  me.  They 
made  us  walk  around  every  one  of  the  villages — I  was 
too  low  a  thing  to  be  allowed  the  privilege  of  the  streets. 

"I  got  out  all  right  and  I  don't  want  to  go  back 
again." 

The  Sunday  night  before  I  had  said  good-by  to  a 
young  chemist  named  A.  C.  Henry,  who  was  returning  to 
work  in  the  mines  at  Cananea  with  some  other  Americans. 
He  had  told  me  that  in  the  event  of  trouble  he  was  com- 
ing back  on  foot — avoid  the  trails  and  hike  to  the  border. 

I  told  Mr.  Hand  about  it  and  asked  him  what  he 
thought  the  chances  were  of  his  getting  out  alive. 

"Well,"  he  replied,  "any  American  that  goes  down 
into  Mexico  now  is  gamblin'  with  his  life,  and  it's  just  a 
toss  up  whether  he  survives  or  not.  If  your  friend  knows 
the  country  pretty  well,  and  does  as  you  say,  he  stands 
as  good  a  chance  as  any  one  of  escaping  when  the  next 


28  Along   the  Rio    Grande 

uprising  comes  along,  but  it's  an  even  money  proposition. 
I  was  lucky,  and  the  conditions  are  becoming  worse.  Each 
time  it  becomes  harder  for  Americans  to  leave  Mexico. 
The  greasers  hate  us  worse  than  tarantulas,  and  think 
that  we  are  about  two  degrees  lower  in. the  scale  of  life. 
No  one  can  tell  what  will  happen  when  trouble  again 
starts.  And  it's  going  to  start. 

Soldiers  at  Camps  Pershing,  Stewart  and  Cotton  were 
introduced  on  July  1 7  to  their  first  dust  storm,  something 
which  they  had  begun  to  believe  was  a  fiction  of  the  East. 
Several  of  the  tents  were  torn  loose  from  their  moorings 
and  many  others  were  only  prevented  from  flying  away 
by  the  caution  of  the  men  within,  who  sat  determinedly 
on  the  sides  of  the  walls. 

After  the  dust  came  the  rain,  and  the  tents  were 
treated  to  an  undesired  irrigation.  Many  of  the  men  toiled 
industriously  while  the  shower  was  at  its  height,  digging 
ditches  around  their  tents  to  carry  away  the  young  rivers 
pouring  over  the  ground  everywhere.  It  has  been  so  long 
since  there  has  been  any  real  wetting  in  this  part  of  the 
country — this  was  the  second  in  eight  months — that  many 
of  the  men  had  decided  it  would  never  come.  It  found 
them  unprepared. 

At  the  time  the  storm  started  I  was  riding  with  H.  A. 
Macrale,  manager  of  the  Austin  Realty  Company,  to  a 
little  place  fourteen  miles  from  El  Paso  called  Ysleta. 
Never  in  the  East  have  I  seen  a  storm  that  equaled  this 
in  splendor  nor  in  discomfort. 

/fslepr  is  a  land  of  ranches  and  farms.  One  sees 
more  green  in  a  square  foot  of  it  than  El  Paso  possesses 
in  a  square  mile. 

Alone:  bv  the  side  of  the  road  were  numerous  box- 


Miners  and  Bandits.  83 

shaped  adobe  houses  inhabited  by  Mexicans.  From  time 
to  time  the  dark-colored  people  would  pass  us  in  carts,  to 
which  were  hitched  animals  of  any  description;  sometimes 
a  couple  of  burros,  a  mule  and  a  horse,  while  once  we  saw 
a  mule  and  an  ox  side  bv  side,  dra^insr  the  vehicle  along 
at  a  gait  that  signified  that  manana  would  do  as  well  as 
any  other  time  for  the  date  of  their  arrival. 

Off  to  the  right,  rising  abruptly  from  the  green  of 
the  plains,  rose  a  blue  range  of  mountains  over  in  Mexico. 
Soon  the  few  clouds  in  the  east,  which  had  been  drifting 
lazily  about  in  a  brilliant  sky,  began  to  thicken  and  be- 
came a  mass  of  lead  in  the  distance. 

Shortly  it  changed  to  a  golden  glow.  Far  from 
us  the  wind  had  sprung  up,  carrying  tons  of  sand  in  its 
grasp.  A  little  in  front  we  could  see  two  twisting  columns 
of  white,  miniature  cyclones  preceding  as  advance  guards. 
These  broke  up  and  gave  place  to  others. 

Then  came  with  them  the  wind  which  screeched  by 
at  sixty  miles  an  hour.  It  tore  the  hat  from  a  worried  peon 
near  by  us  and  took  it  sailing  like  a  small  balloon  high 
up  into  the  air.  The  sand,  which  feels  more  like  gravel 
when  it  beats  against  your  face,  blinded  us  and  it  was  al- 
most impossible  to  see  more  than  a  few  feet  ahead. 

With  the  unquenchable  ardor  of  a  Texan  when  honor 
of  his  native  State  is  concerned,  my  companion  shouted 
to  me  from  behind  his  handkerchief: 

"Say,  this  isn't  anything  compared  to  some  of  the 
storms  we  have  here.  I've  seen  it  so  you  could  hardly 
breathe  and  it  took  the  skin  right  off  your  face." 

I  was  too  busy  to  mention  to  him  that  it  was  with 
great  difficulty  that  I  did  breathe,  and  that  the  skin  was 
being  taken  off  my  face.  We  tied  handkerchiefs  over  our 


30  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

faces  and  managed  to  reach  Ysleta,  where  we  hurried  to 
the  shelter  of  the  Valley  Inn,  a  little  place  which  is  the 
center  of  activities  of  Ysleta. 

Just  then  the  stopper  was  pulled  out  of  the  sky  and 
there  followed  a  more  enthusiastic,  thorough-going  rain 
than  it  has  ever  before  been  my  pleasure  of  experiencing. 
Each  of  the  drops  contained  at  least  a  quart.  They  fell 
on  the  tin  roof  above  the  porch  with  a  thud  that  sounded 
as  if  some  one  were  deluging  it  with  baseballs.  Holes 
were  dug  in  the  ground  where  they  struck. 

The  main  street — it  is  the  only  one  in  Ysleta  that 
can  be  called  a  street  at  all — was  soon  flowing  from  curb 
to  curb  with  a  river  of  mud  reaching  nearly  to  the  feet 
of  the  rangers,  cattlemen  and  Mexicans  who  watched  it 
from  the  shelter  of  the  store  entrances,  with  undisguised 
satisfaction. 

The  downpour  soon  ceased,  but  every  little  while 
after  that,  as  if  to  show  it  still  had  a  kick  left  in  its  system, 
it  broke  out  anew. 

It  traveled  off  up  the  valley  in  a  strip  not  greater  than 
a  half  mile,  with  the  sun  shining  down  on  either  side  with 
a  brilliance  doubly  increased  by  the  contrast.  Fifty  feet 
on  either  side  of  the  lane  one  would  have  found  it  as  dry 
as  it  has  been  for  the  last  month  or  so  without  a  drop  to 
dampen  it. 

The  people  of  Ysleta  began  to  emerge  from  their 
places  of  retreat. 

Every  one  began  talking  to  every  one  else  of  the 
shower,  and  business  (with  a  small  b)  was  resumed  in 
Ysleta  as  usual. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Private  Perry  and  the  Scars  Which  Are  His  Memoranda. 
Concerning  T'rant'las  and  Sichlike. 

There  is  one  man  in  the  Ninth  Massachusetts  In- 
fantry to  whose  blase  soul  the  skirmish  with  a  Mexican 
band  of  snipers  across  the  Rio  Grande  on  July  18,  in 
which  two  of  the  latter  were  seen  to  fall,  brought  little 
thrill.  His  name  is  Charles  T.  Perry,  private,  who  has 
killed  so  many  of  our  dark  neighbors  in  his  former  ca- 
pacity as  a  ranger  in  Arizona  that  the  only  purpose  they 
now  serve  him  is  a  means  by  which  to  remember  dates. 

If  you  are  trying  to  recall  the  time  of  the  Lusitania 
disaster  he  can  be  of  assistance.  He  will  pause  in  thought 
but  in  a  moment  he  will  have  it. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  will  say,  "that  was  in  April,  1915, 
the  year  I  got  Toddwin.  He  had  murdered  a  prospector 
and  thrown  him  down  a  well.  He  hopped  over  to  the 
Indian  reservation.  I  went  after  him." 

In  the  engagement  with  the  Mexicans  a  short  dis- 
tance east  of  El  Paso,  near  Camp  Cotton,  Private  Perry 
was  credited  with  hitting  one  of  the  two  killed. 
Companies  L,  A,  C  and  D  were  on  outpost  duty  at 
the  time.  Early  in  the  morning  a  couple  of  their 
members  came  down  to  the  river  to  obtain  water  for  their 
horses.  A  few  hours  later,  at  11.45,  the  United  States 
men  were  fired  on  from  ambush.  A  couple  of  Mexicans, 
one  of  them  because  of  his  sabre  believed  to  be  an  officer, 
dashed  out  from  cover.  Shots  were  fired  at  the  American 
troopers,  which  were  promptly  returned.  The  officer  and 

81 


32  .  Uong   the   Rio   Grande 

the  man  v/ith  him  dropped.  Two  others  came  out  and 
carried  them  back  into  the  bushes.  The  exchange  of 
shots  soon  ceased  and  the  bandits  retired  in  the  direction 
of  Juarez. 

All  of  this  was  in  the  day's  work  for  Perry. 

The  thing  about  the  whole  affair  that  seemed  to  in- 
terest him  most  was  that  Private  Shields  had  just  arisen 
from  a  cracker  box  the  instant  before  a  bullet  struck  it. 

He  pulled  off  his  shirt  as  he  was  telling  me  about 
it  and  began  to  wash  up,  for,  in  spite  of  disturbing  inter- 
views, army  life  must  continue  just  the  same,  and  if 
mess  call  finds  them  in  the  class  of  the  great  unwashed 
at  6.30  the  condition  must  remain  unchanged  until  their 
meal  is  finished. 

I  noticed  that  his  body  was  covered  with  a  number 
of  scars — so  many  that  if  one  walked  over  to  him  with 
one's  eyes  closed  and  touched  him  one  could  scarcely 
miss  a  spot  that  served  to  keep  his  memory  clear  about  a 
certain  incident. 

From  then  on  our  conversation  much  resembled  a 
game  of  tit-tat-toe.  I  would  indicate  a  scar  and  he  would 
tell  me  its  history  with  a  naive  matter-of-factness  that 
at  once  indicated  a  surprise  at  the  presence  of  that  par- 
ticular adornment  and  reminiscence  of  the  manner  in 
which  it  had  been  acquired.  His  brown  eyes  gazed  out  of 
his  bronzed  face  with  a  roundness  as  he  talked  that  made 
his  tale  all  the  stranger.  His  anecdotes  were  mere  skele- 
tons of  events — figurative  skeletons  born  from  real  ones. 
They  needed  no  elaboration. 

His  shoulder  was  drawn  in  a  red  pucker  with  a  num- 
ber of  near-dimples. 

"Buckshot,"  he  answered  from  the  midst  of  his  pan 


Private  Perry  and  the  Scars.  33 

of  water  in  answer  to  my  query.  "Got  that  in  the 
I.  W.  W.  riots  of  1914.  They  didn't  riot  long:,  though. 
When  they  got  through  we  made  them  eat  all  of  their 
red  books — everything  except  the  wire  binders." 

He  drew  his  dripping  head  out  of  the  pan,  rubbed  it 
dry  and  pointed  to  a  white  shriveled  lane  on  the  right  side 
of  the  top  of  his  head. 

"The  man  who  killed  Joe  Mink  at  the  Arro  mine 
give  me  this,"  he  said.  "He  escaped  to  Magdalena,  over 
in  Sonora,  after  the  shooting.  Jim  Powers,  George  Sears 
and  I  went  over  there  after  him.  We  found  him  in  an 
adobe  dance  hall.  When  I  came  through  the  door  I  got 
that." 

"Did  you  capture  him? "  I  asked  in  what  I  fear  must 
have  been  a  breathless  tenderfoot  manner.  The  proper 
word  to  have  used  was  "get." 

"He  came  back  with  us,"  was  the  response. 

The  mention  of  George  Sears  and  Jim  Powers  re- 
called to  his  mind  others  of  his  old  friends  that  rode  range 
with  him  in  Arizona  before  he  enlisted  with  the  militia. 

"There  was  Sam  Hadwick,  Perry  Sears,  brother  of 
George;  Billy  Wilson,  George  Collins,  Billy  Wolf,  Jeff 
Adams,  Jim  McGee  and  a  bunch  of  others,  all  of  them 
princes,"  he  said. 

"Billy  Wolf  used  to  be  under  sheriff  at  Maricopa 
City  several  years  ago.  He  was  standing  on  the  station 
platform  with  his  sister  once  and  a  Mexican  threw  a 
brick  at  him.  (Bordei'  Mexicans  never  seem  to  learn  to 
stop  doing  foolish  things.)  The  brick  went  right  be- 
tween them.  Billy  shot  him. 

"Jim  McGee,  who  used  to  be  our  captain,"  he  con- 
tinued, "nearly  got  his  from  the  Sontag-Nevins  gang  he 


84  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

was  after  near  Phoenix  once.  He  was  hit  square  in  the 
front  of  the  forehead  and  back  in  town  he  was  reported  as 
dead.  Later  while  all  the  fellows  were  talking  about  it 
in  walks  Jim  as  large  as  life.  You  can't  kill  him. 

"George  and  Perry  Sears  started  on  a  cattle  ranch 
in  the  Palo  Verde  ranch.  Some  Mexicans  took  some  land 
near  them  and  went  into  the  sheep  business.  Pretty  soon 
their  cattle  began  to  disappear  and  the  Mexicans  branched 
out  into  cows.  George  and  Perry  tied  the  Greasers  on 
their  burros  and  chased  them  across  the  border  to  where 
they  belonged." 

Some  may  think  ranger  methods  of  dealing  with 
Greasers  strenuous,  but  none  can  deny  they  are  effective, 
for  the  only  thing  that  a  Mexican  properly  appreciates  is 
force. 

I  saw  that  we  were  getting  off  our  subject  and  I 
tried  to  get  him  back  by  asking  where  the  wound  in  his 
neck  came  from. 

"That  was  a  present  I  received  in  Phoenix  in  1913 
when  the  Mexicans  went  off  on  a  rampage.  I  stopped 
some  lead  in  the  leg  at  the  same  time." 

Altogether  Perry  has  taken  an  active  part  in  800 
arrests  and  a  number  of  hangings. 

"I  pulled  the  traps  for  a  couple  of  guys  in  Florence," 
he  informed  me. 

I  assured  him  that  my  knowledge  of  a  trap  was  that 
of  a  new  born  babe.  He  proceeded  to  elucidate.  I 
learned  that  in  Florence,  a  small  Arizona  town,  a  steel 
platform  had  been  built,  in  the  center  of  which  were  two 
doors  which  swung  downward  when  the  "trap  was 
pulled."  This  allowed  the  victim  to  drop  into  a  chamber 
beneath  after  it  was  quite  certain  that  his  neck  had  been 


Private  Perry  and  the  Scars.  35 

broken.  The  walls  of  the  dungeon  underneath  were  lined 
with  pictures  of  criminals,  with  nooses  around  their  necks, 
who  had  met  similar  fates.  Of  course  he  who  has  just 
departed  into  the  life  beyond  is  unable,  however,  to  appre- 
ciate their  artistic  merit. 

"Some  complaint  used  to  be  made  by  the  prisoners," 
Perry  told  me,  "because,  after  the  man  about  to  be  hanged 
walked  up  the  path  leading  to  the  platform,  they  could 
see  him  from  their  cells." 

A  prison,  I  was  told,  was  no  place  for  sensitive 
feelings. 

He  pulled  on  his  shirt  and  the  guide-book  of  the 
scars  was  hidden  from  my  sight.  I  just  had  time  before 
he  hurried  off  to  mess  to  learn  that  he  had  joined  the 
Ninth  Massachusetts  up  in  Nactic,  Mass.  He  had  gone 
there  after  making  a  trip  to  New  Orleans  with  some 
Federal  prisoners.  If  we  have  no  war  with  Mexico  and 
the  troops  are  sent  home  he  will  again  return  to  his  old- 
time  haunts. 

Up  to  the  present  moment  more  than  200,000  de- 
scriptions of  the  flora  and  fauna  of  the  border  have  been 
mailed  by  the  soldiers  of  our  country  from  El  Paso  alone 
and  I  see  no  legitimate  reason  why  I  shouldn't  have  just 
as  much  right  to  describe  them  as  they.  It  seems  better 
not  to  defer  the  task  any  longer,  for  letters  are  leaving 
that  city  at  the  daily  rate  of  50,000,  and  every  moment 
takes  the  edge  off  the  knowledge  which  is  about  to  be  laid 
before  those  in  the  North. 

It  is  strange  to  one  who  has  not  made  a  business  of 
traveling  with  the  troops  to  discover  how  much  larger  in 
numbers  and  size  all  of  the  insects  and  reptiles  of  this 
country  are  than  they  are  described  in  the  encyclopedia. 


36  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

Of  the  tarantula  in  particular,  all  of  my  preconceived  ideas 
have  undergone  revision. 

I  have  learned  (from  conversations  with  the  militia- 
men) that  the  troops  are  in  constant  danger  of  annihila- 
tion by  these  creatures,  and  were  it  not  for  the  unceasing 
vigilance  of  the  men  the  danger  threatened  by  the  Mexi- 
cans would  be  a  small  matter  in  comparison. 

To  truly  understand  this  one  must  have  a  fuller  ac- 
quaintance with  the  nature  of  the  beast.  It  is  innately 
vicious,  a  viciousness  that  no  care  and  kindness  is 
able  to  eradicate.  Gratitude  it  knows  not  the  meaning 
of.  For  days  a  tarantula  has  been  known  to  live  and  be 
nourished  in  the  tent  of  a  trooper  and  in  the  end  turn  to 
bite  his  benefactor.  Aesop's  proverbial  snake  was  a  Good 
Samaritan  by  contrast.  The  only  explanation  of  their 
complete  lack  of  success  up  to  date  in  increasing  mortality 
is  the  low  order  of  their  intelligence  as  opposed  to  that 
or  the  soldier. 

Camps  Pershing,  Cotton  and  Stewart,  I  am  told, 
swarm  with  them.  With  all  their  faults  the  tarantulas 
cannot  be  accused  of  inhospitality,  for  upon  learning  of 
the  arrival  of  the  troops  they  journeyed  thither  in  droves. 
Each  morning  the  man  assigned  to  tarantula  duty  clears 
off  the  paths  in  front  of  the  tents  in  order  that  the  men 
may  walk  unmolested  to  their  shower  baths. 

Even  with  this  precaution  there  is  £reat  danger,  for 
Old  Tarant  can  jump  from  five  to  thirty-five  feet,  accord- 
ing to  the  distance  required.  One  might  be  wandering 
along  in  a  place  utterly  devoid  of  life,  feeline  perfectly 
safe,  yet  the  next  moment  some  dark  object  would 
come  hurtling  through  the  air  and  one  would  be  in  a  death 
struggle  with  one  of  the  tigers  of  the  desert.  When  that 


Private   Perry   and   the   Scars.  37 

moment  arrives  one  must  abandon  all  his  preconceived 
ideas  of  fighting  like  a  gentleman.  Biting,  strangle  holds, 
toe  holds  and  gouging  are  all  quite  within  the  rules  of 
tarantula  warfare.  If  you  ever  come  to  that  part  of  the 
country  don't  hesitate  to  strike  a  tarantula  when  he  is 
down,  and  even  though  he  be  a  few  pounds  lighter  don't 
feel  that  you  are  fighting  out  of  your  class. 

The  tales  I  had  heard  made  me  somewhat  curious. 
I  knew  not  what  they  looked  like  nor  yet  had  I  seen  one. 
I  went  down  the  row  of  tents  in  Battery  B  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Artillery  asking  if  they  "had  any  tarantulas  to- 
day." None  could  be  produced,  although  if  I  had  only 
come  a  few  minutes  earlier  I  could  have  seen  scores  of 
them.  Only  that  morning  one  had  been  discovered  nest- 
ing slyly  above  the  head  of  one  of  the  drivers'  cots.  Help 
had  been  summoned  by  a  bugler  who  in  his  excitement 
blew  fire  call,  police  call,  reveille  and  first  call  to  mess 
one  after  the  other,  and  the  enemy  was  put  to  rout  with 
no  loss  of  life. 

"What  do  they  look  like?"  I  asked,  for  I  was  de- 
termined to  get  some  definite  information.  A  private  was 
discovered  who  had  seen  one. 

'They're  like  a  big  spider,"  he  said,  and  then  added 
impressively,  "with  nippers."  There  was  a  world  of  ex- 
pression in  that  "nippers,"  and  I  knew  that  if  I  could  once 
behold  a  pair  of  those  terrible  instruments  I  could  there- 
after be  threatened  by  a  crazed  man  with  ice-tongs  in  his 
hand  without  it  in  the  least  disturbing  my  equanimity. 

"Go  on,"  I  pleaded.    "Tell  me  more." 

It  was  with  reluctance  at  first  that  he  did  so.  One 
who  has  been  in  intimate  contact  with  a  tarantula  is  apt 
to  be  silent  ever  after  on  the  subject.  He  reminded  me 


38  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

of  the  hero  in  a  story  published  in  a  magazine  some 
months  ago.  The  man  was  considered  a  great  conversa- 
tionalist. He  had  just  returned  from  the  front  after  hav- 
ing been  wounded,  and  was  awaited  at  a  London  club  by 
some  friends  who  expected  vivid  tales  of  the  war.  He 
came.  His  friends  hinted,  but  not  a  word  of  the  war  did 
he  utter.  The  horrors  of  that  awful  conflict  had  com- 
pletely silenced  the  man  who  had  never  been  silent  before. 

However,  after  much  persuasion,  I  induced  my 
tarantula  man  to  continue. 

"They're  hairy,"  he  said,  "and  have  got  lots  of 
legs."  I  had  a  mental  picture  of  a  cross  between  Lionel 
the  dog-face  boy  and  a  centipede.  His  face  as  he  lay 
on  his  cot  was  drawn  with  the  strain  of  what  he  was  tell- 
ing me  and  I  felt  a  brute  for  forcing  him  to  do  it. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  do,"  he  said,  after  another 
spasm.  "Go  over  to  the  top  sergeant's  tent  over  in 
Battery  C,  the  next  row.  He's  got  one  in  a  glass  and 
you  can  see  for  yourself  what  they  look  like."  His  face 
relaxed  and  I  could  see  that  a  load  was  lifted  from  his 
mind.  He  stepped  to  the  entrance  to  his  tent  and  pointed 
to  a  khaki  dwelling  at  the  end  of  a  long  line,  which  con- 
tained the  object  of  my  search.  I  mopped  my  brow  and 
hurried,  although  the  temperature  was  106  over  there. 

I  found  the  sergeant  in  the  act  of  depositing  a  small 
striped  snake  in  a  glass  holding  a  spider  about  the  size 
of  one  of  the  cartwheels  which  they  give  you  in  El  Paso 
as  a  substitute  for  dollar  bills. 

"What's  that?"  I  asked,  indicating  the  spider. 

"Tarantula,"  he  said,  without  removing  his  fixed 
gaze  from  the  snake. 


Private  Perry  and  the  Scars.  39 

"Why,  I  was  told  that  they  were  about  five  feet 
around  the  waist  line,"  I  protested. 

"So  they  are — the  parents,"  he  informed  me,  "but 
this  here  is  a  young  one."  With  that  he  let  go  the 
wriggling  tail  of  the  snake  and  said  breathlessly,  "Now 
watch!" 

I  watched,  but  at  first  the  snake  was  inclined  to  be 
friendly,  although  his  friendliness  was  tinged  with  im- 
passivity. 

"Stir  'em  up  a  bit,"  he  remarked,  cautiously  insert- 
ing a  pencil  underneath  the  cover  of  the  glass.  The 
tarantula  made  vain  efforts  to  spring  out,  and  the  snake 
struggled  up  the  sides  only  to  fall  back  again.  But  the 
pencil  had  done  its  work  and  an  animosity  was  aroused 
that  meant  "to  the  death." 

The  spider,  suddenly  impressed  with  the  idea  that 
the  snake  really  had  no  business  in  his  glass,  after  all, 
took  a  vicious  snap  at  him  with  his  twin  claws.  Snakes 
may  be  sluggish,  but  no  one  could  have  accused  this  one 
of  being  a  moral  coward.  Although  his  opponent  was 
fully  his  size,  albeit  assembled  differently,  he  forced  him 
to  the  ropes  and  grabbed  him  by  the  middle  of  the  back. 
The  tarantula's  feet  twitched  up  and  down,  and  at  last  he 
broke  the  hold  and  countered  with  a  right  and  left  to  the 
snake's  neck  (if  one  doesn't  call  his  whole  body  his  neck). 
A  black  juice  exuded  from  him.  The  sergeant  immedi- 
ately became  concerned. 

"Got  to  drink  out  of  that,"  he  said,  and,  hastily 
clearing  a  path  through  the  ring-side  spectators,  he  carried 
the  glass  and  its  contents  outside  of  the  tent  and  deposited 
them  on  the  ground. 


40  'Along  the  Rio  Grande 

Both  of  the  principals  had  by  this  time  attained  a 
healthy  respect  for  each  other's  prowess,  and  they  made 
off  in  opposite  directions.  No  one  attempted  to  detain 
the  tarantula,  but  the  snake  was  once  more  seized  and 
brought  back  to  captivity.  He  may  still,  according  to 
present  advices,  be  found  in  the  tent  of  the  top  sergeant 
by  all  who  care  to  view  him,  ready  to  meet  all  comers. 

There  are  also  in  this  country  horned  toads,  scor- 
pions, centipedes,  gila  monsters,  rattlesnakes  and  flies, 
the  luxuriant  cactus  and  mesquite  bushes,  each  with  a 
history  as  long  as  that  of  the  tarantula,  but  the  ribbon  on 
my  machine  has  run  out  and  their  description  must  be 
deferred. 


CHAPTER  VL 
The  Hermit  of  £1  Paso. 

Troops  may  come  and  troops  may  go.  The  militia 
may  mobilize  and  the  United  States  may  go  to  war  with 
Mexico,  but  to  Bill  Dickinson,  who  is  hailed  as  El  Paso's 
only  hermit,  it  matters  little.  Technically  he  is  not  an 
El  Pasoan,  as  he  lives  far  out  in  a  blistering  desert  of  sand 
and  cactus  a  few  miles  across  the  line  in  New  Mexico. 
But  no  other  town  claims  him  and  he  claims  no  other 
town.  About  once  in  three  weeks  he  comes  to  El  Paso, 
driving  a  skeleton  of  a  horse  kept  alive  by  little  else  than 
an  unkind  fate,  to  purchase  provisions  enough  to  last  until 
his  next  visit 

Concerning  him  there  are  the  usual  conflicting  ru- 
mors. Some  say  he  has  a  fortune  in  gold  hidden  away  in 
his  ranch  of  sand;  others,  that  he  occasionally  receives  a 
pittance  from  the  County  Poor  House  sufficient  for  him 
to  sustain  life. 

One  of  the  theories  must  be  correct,  for  it  is  impos- 
sible to  conceive  of  any  manner  in  which  he  could  extract 
a  living  solely  from  the  barren  land  which  surrounds  his 
strange  dwelling. 

One  reaches  it  after  traveling  miles  through  lonely 
hills  of  reluctant  sands  and  nothingness.  Everything 
seems  to  have  retired  to  leave  him  in  his  seclusion.  Even 
the  mountains,  which  the  clearness  of  the  atmosphere  in 
most  parts  of  this  country  brings  almost  within  a  stone's 

41 


-J2  Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

throw  of  one,  are  dim  and  blue  in  the  distance.  Once, 
when  Dickinson  first  came  here  in  1883,  the  Rio  Grande 
flowed  near  his  place,  but  since  then  it  has  changed  its 
course  and  is  more  than  a  hot  mile  away.  His  only  neigh- 
bors are  a  foreman  and  his  gang  of  Mexicans,  the  sole 
inhabitants  of  the  desolate  town  of  Anapra. 

When  I  arrived  there  with  some  friends  Mr.  Dickin- 
son was  not  at  home.  We  had  picked  the  one  day  in  a 
long  three  weeks  on  which  he  had  gone  to  El  Paso.  We 
decided,  however,  to  pay  him  a  call,  nevertheless. 

If  a  man's  dwelling  is  indicative  of  his  character,  the 
character  of  Mr.  Dickinson  is  unusual  indeed. 

I  had  never  seen  anything  like  it  before,  and  if  I 
ever  nappen  on  another  one  I  will  certainly  consult  an 
alienist.  It  seemed  as  if  Bill  Dickinson  had  made  a  mental 
bet  to  build  a  dwelling  with  a  minimum  amount  of  ex- 
pense and  a  maximum  amount  of  other  people's  property. 
It  is  constructed  entirely  of  railroad  ties  split  in  all  sizes 
and  shapes,  wire,  nails  and  ice  molds,  which  in  their 
original  form  are  oblong  boxes  of  iron,  but  had  been 
hammered  into  flat  strips  of  metal  wherever  needed. 
Aside  from  a  few  boards  these  were  the  only  ma- 
terials used. 

The  roof,  a  wide  V,  was  a  silent  testimonial  to  what 
can  be  accomplished  with  patience  and  molds.  Beneath 
it  stretched  a  row  of  other  ice  molds  calculated  to  catch 
the  water  shed  by  the  roof  during  the  rainy  season.  When 
filled  these  would  be  removed  and  others  substituted. 
Presumably  this  water  was  used  for  cooking  and  other 
purposes.  It  was  the  rainy  season  along  the  border,  but 
up  to  that  time  it  had  amounted  to  a  name  only,  and 
Mr.  Dickinson's  water-catching  devices  had  not  been 


The  Hermit  of  El  Paso.  43 

a  huge  success.  I  gazed  into  several  of  them.  A  few 
contained  an  oily  scum  of  rust  and  dirt;  others  were  com- 
pletely dry.  In  one  reposed  the  corpses  of  two  lizards 
fallen  there  in  happier  days. 

On  each  side  the  hut  contained  a  porch,  one  of  its 
greatest  luxuries.  Two  dogs  of  indeterminate  breed  re- 
posed on  some  burlap  bags  on  the  front  one.  About 
them  was  a  pile  of  bones.  Thirty-three  years  ago  Dick- 
inson must  have  owned  other  pets  and  the  bones  gnawed 
by  each  and  every  one  was  there. 

The  animals  started  a  furious  barking  when  we  en- 
tered. The  sight  of  unknown  humans  was  strange  for 
them,  but  as  soon  as  they  discovered  what  we  were  their 
threats  turned  to  a  frenzy  of  joy.  The  two  windows  in 
front  were  boarded  up  and  the  door  padlocked. 

In  order  to  gaze  into  the  gloomy  interior  of  the 
house  we  had  to  go  around  to  the  side  which  boasted  one 
muddy  pane  of  glass. 

There  were  two  rooms,  one  a  combination  bed  and 
sitting  room  containing  a  large  adobe  fireplace,  a  cot 
covered  by  a  Navajo  blanket,  and  a  rocking  chair  incon- 
gruous among  the  rest  of  the  surroundings  because  it  was 
intact.  There  were  a  few  books  on  a  primitive  shelf, 
also  built  of  railroad  ties.  I  was  told  that  the  hermit  was 
a  great  reader  and  interested  in  subjects  of  every 
variety. 

Over  the  roof  was  an  arrangement  resembling  a 
wireless  outfit  that  supported  a  flagpole  flying  his  private 
signal,  a  gray  rag.  One  could  almost  reach  the  top  of 
the  pole  by  a  pyramidal  ladder  which  he  had  erected. 
What  purpose  it  served  I  cannot  imagine,  unless  it  was 
to  afford  him  a  closer  view  of  his  banner. 


44  Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

Over  in  the  back  of  his  home  was  a  barn,  an  impos- 
ing affair  of  two  stories.  The  topmost  was  reached  by 
a  substantial  stairway  of  ties  which  led  into  the  loft 
where  his  hay  and  other  supplies  were  stored. 

Once  chickens  were  kept  on  the  place,  but  they  were 
unable  to  survive  the  intense  heat.  Now  all  of  the 
feathered  kind  which  remain  are  a  few  pigeons,  the  last 
of  a  flock  upon  whom  hunger  has  made  a  constant  inroad. 

Below  the  barn  roof,  which  resembled  that  of  the 
house,  was  the  same  water  catching  devices  described 
before. 

Nothing  was  growing  on  the  property  save  the  usual 
weeds  of  the  desert.  It  is  much  to  be  doubted  if  any  at- 
tempt had  ever  been  made  to  raise  anything  else. 

In  spite  of  this  Bill  Dickinson  recently  sold  some  of 
his  land  to  a  man  with  imagination  for  $50  an  acre.  El 
Paso  is  in  the  throes  of  a  real  estate  boom  which  has  its 
foundation  in  its  remarkable  growth,  and  people  are  now 
willing  to  pay  any  prices  for  even  desert  land  in  the  ex- 
pectation that  the  city  will  continue  to  spread. 

We  waited  some  time  for  Mr.  Dickinson  to  appear, 
but  at  last  decided  to  start  for  home.  We  had  only  gone 
a  few  miles  when  we  met  him  driving  an  old  freckled 
white  horse,  the  father  of  his  kind. 

We  stopped  to  talk  with  him,  and  his  horse  en- 
thusiastically anticipated  his  wishes  by  halting  before  his 
master  had  voiced  any  desire  in  the  matter. 

Dickinson  is  more  than  85, — no  one  knows  just  how 
much, — and  he  does  not  enlighten  them.  He  looks  as  if 
he  might  be  any  age  up  to  115.  His  hair  is  snow  white 
and  reaches  to  his  shoulders.  His  beard  extends  from 
a  wrinkled,  browned  face  to  his  waist 


The  Hermit  of  El  Paso.  48 

It  was  some  time  before  I  could  divert  my  attention 
"from  his  remarkable  whiskers.  The  verse  telling  of  the 
man  in  whose  beard  a  lark  and  a  wren,  two  owls  and  a 
hen  had  nested  kept  running  through  my  head.  He 
would  have  had  room  for  all  of  these  inhabitants,  a 
kitchen  stove  and  a  pound  or  two  of  cactus  plants.  I 
am  not  quite  sure,  even  yet,  that  he  didn't.  He  might 
have  posed  for  George  Sorrow's  description  of  Brute 
Karl: 

"A  wild  swine  on  his  shoulders  he  kept 
And  upon  his  bosom  a  black  bear  slept. 
And  about  his  fingers  with  hair  o'erhung, 
The  squirrels  sported  and  weasel  clung." 

His  sombrero,  overalls  and  shirt  had  all  of  them  at 
one  time  been  treasured  possessions  of  previous  Dickin- 
sons. 

"Don't  you  ever  get  lonely  out  there?"  1  asked. 

"No,  suh,  Ah  like  it,"  he  answered.  It  appeared 
that  he  had  come  there  from  Arizona  because  that  btate 
had  been  too  thickly  populated  to  suit  his  tastes.  He 
didn't  like  people  nor  their  ways.  A  long  time  ago  he 
had  been  a  college  student,  but  it  had  failed  to  strengthen 
his  religious  views.  On  coming  to  his  present  abode  he 
would  frequently  drive  into  El  Paso  and,  standing  in  his 
rickety  wagon,  preach  on  socialism  to  the  crowds 
gathered  about  him.  Of  this  he  soon  became  tired  and 
the  town  saw  less  and  less  of  him  as  the  years  went  on. 

Now  he  sometimes  goes  in  to  attend  church. 

"Ah'm  getting  old,"  he  told  me,  "and  although  An 
don't  believe  in  God,  Ah  wish  to  heah  what  the  preachers 
have  to  say  about  religion  before  Ah  die." 


Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

He  had  spoken  far  longer  than  usual  and  he  sud- 
denly realized  it  with  a  start.  He  gazed  uneasily  in  back 
at  the  alkali-covered  bundles  which  lay  in  the  cart  and 
chirruped  to  his  steed. 

There  was  a  commotion  within  the  animal's  skin. 
He  kicked  up  a  cloud  of  sand  and  stumbled  forward 

"So  long,"  said  Bill  Dickinson. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
Hopping  Up  to  Cloudcroft. 

One  of  the  hardest  things  to  accustom  oneself  to  in 
Texas  is  the  attitude  of  the  Texan  to  distance.  When  a 
person  can  travel  for  1,200  miles  without  leaving  his  own 
State  he  is  not  very  apt  to  regard  a  trip  of  one  or  two 
hundred  miles  as  anything  more  than  a  jaunt  to  be  taken 
as  an  appetizer  before  breakfast. 

It  would  not  be  surprising  to  learn  that  the  wait- 
resses commuted  to  El  Paso  from  Brownsville. 

So  many  people  had  asked  me  why  I  didn't  take  a 
"hop"  up  to  Cloudcroft,  a  health  resort  9,000  feet  up  in 
the  air  in  New  Mexico,  that  I  began  to  wonder  why  l 
didn't  myself. 

I  asked  how  far  it  was.  There  and  back — 200 
miles;  if  you  started  at  7.30  in  the  morning  you  would 
get  back  at  7.20  in  the  evening.  It  seemed  like  quite  a 
"hop"  to  me. 

In  the  East,  unless  a  person  were  a  traveling  sales- 
man, he  would  get  a  headache  packing  the  night  before 
and  the  family  would  all  be  down  in  the  station 
in  the  morning  to  bid  him  good-by  before  he  started  on 
a  journey  of  similar  length.  He  would  expect  to  stay 
not  less  than  a  week. 

However,  I  hid  this  information  from  my  question- 
ers and  told  them  I  had  been  planning  right  along  to  go 
to  Cloudcroft,  and  I  went. 

47 


48  Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

There  had  been  some  talk  then  of  establishing  a 
military  hospital  there,  and  the  soldiers  were  awaiting 
anxiously  the  decision.  In  Cloudcroft  are  found  the  fair- 
est of  the  El  Pasoans,  who  know  not  how  to  while  away 
the  Summer  hours;  there  is  a  golf  course  the  highest  in 
the  world;  hunting,  horseback  riding  and  dancing. 

Several  of  the  militiamen  had  already  visited  the 
place  on  sick  leave  and,  although  their  health  apparently 
soon  returns,  it  is  usually  some  time  before  they  feel  tit 
enough  to  return.  It  was  here  that  Captain  Morey,  the 
hero  of  Carrizal,  spent  a  few  days  recuperating. 

From  El  Paso  we  took  the  train  to  Alamagordo. 
It  is  best  to  carry  the  name  on  a  printed  card,  easily  ac- 
cessible, for  if  one  says  it  in  a  hurry,  complications  are 
liable  to  ensue  that  will  result  in  the  station  being  passed 
in  the  interim. 

Up  to  Alamagordo  the  scenery  is  like  most  of  that 
found  on  this  part  of  the  border — oceans  of  all  kinds  of 
cactus  and  alkali  that  stretch  away  into  the  distance  until 
one  wonders  where  so  much  of  it  conies  from.  More 
than  thirty  miles  away  it  ends  abruptly  against  a  chain  of 
mountains. 

The  cars  are  equipped  with  what  are  called  reclining 
chairs,  which  resemble  those  found  in  barber  shops.  The 
greatest  surprise  of  the  trip  is  when  the  conductor  fails 
to  ask  you  whether  you  will  have  a  shave,  shine  or  hair- 
cut. 

By  means  of  them  one  is  enabled  to  lean  away  back 
and  gaze  interestedly  in  the  face  of  the  person  in  the  seat 
behind.  If  the  face  happens  to  be  that  of  a  war-like 
madre  a  return  to  the  original  position  can  be  negotiated, 
though  with  difficulty.  It  was  this  type  of  seat,  I  believe, 


Hopping  Up  to  Cloudcroft  49 

that  first  started  Texans  on  the  path  to  the  sociability  tor 
which  they  are  so  famous. 

It  isn't  until  one  changes  at  Alamagordo  and  gets 
into  the  flat  cars  equipped  with  wooden  seats  like  the  top 
of  a  Fifth  avenue  bus  that  the  trip  really  begins. 

The  engine  has  scarcely  begun  to  complain  about 
its  climb  before  every  one  in  the  car  knows  where  every 
one  else  has  come  from  and  how  long  they  are  going  to 
stay.  The  conductor  sits  down  on  the  seat  opposite  you 
to  ask  which  way  your  State  will  vote  during  the  coming 
election.  His  name  is  Jim,  he  has  ridden  on  the  road 
ever  since  it  was  built,  eighteen  years  ago,  and  can  tell 
you  exactly  at  what  elevation  you  are  without  removing 
his  eye  from  your  watch  charm,  which  arouses  in  his  heart 
the  sincerest  admiration.  Just  why,  it  is  hard  to  say, 
for  it  does  not  compare  with  the  human  tooth  gold- 
mounted,  which  your  new  acquaintance  across  the  road, 
Austin  Miller,  wears  in  his  coat  lapel.  I  believe  it  was 
the  first  that  graced  his  childhood;  he  will  still  have  it 
when  all  others  are  gone. 

Seated  with  me  was  a  refugee  from  Mexico,  who  lett 
Monterey  in  Jose  Madero's  private  car  when  things  be- 
came too  hot.  All  night,  he  told  me,  he  had  kept  sticking 
his  head  out  of  the  upper  berth  to  listen  to  the  sound 
of  machine  guns  in  the  distance,  only  withdrawing  it 
when  he  saw  the  head  of  the  equally  alarmed  Madero 
issuing  forth  from  the  berth  below.  Early  in  the  morn- 
ing he  discovered  that  the  noise  of  the  machine  guns  was 
caused  by  the  ticking  of  an  automatic  lamp.  He  then 
sank  into  a  troubled  sleep,  but  neglected  to  impart  nis 
information  to  the  restless  Madero. 

There  was  a  disturbance  in  back  of  us.     An  East- 


60  Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

erner  had  nearly  sat  on  a  paper  bag  to  the  shrieked  dis- 
may of  a  young  girl,  later  ascertained  to  be  the  daughter 
of  M.  B.  Hutchins,  the  proprietor  of  the  lodge  toward 
which  we  were  journeying. 

"O-oh,  look  out  for  my  tortillas  and  enchilados," 
she  screamed. 

His  face  expressed  a  grave  fear  that  a  tortilla  was 
related  to  the  tarantula  about  which  we  had  heard  so 
much.  He  shrank  away. 

"Will  they  bite?"  he  asked. 

The  girl  told  him  they  were  harmless. 

"What  is  the  difference  between  a  tortilla  and  an 
enchilado?"  he  inquired. 

"You  simple  thing,"  she  responded,  "an  enchilado 
is  bigger  and  more  in  it." 

The  man  from  the  East  became  interested  at  once. 

"A  tortilla  then,  I  take  it,"  he  said,  "is  the  young 
and  if  allowed  to  grow  will  develop  into  the  enchilado." 

My  attention  was  distracted  from  the  conversation 
at  this  point  by  the  beauties  of  the  scenery,  and  it  was 
not  until  I  reached  El  Paso  again  that  I  learned  from  an 
omniscient  bellboy  what  they  really  were.  A  tortilla,  he 
said,  was  a  form  of  Mexican  bread,  flat  and  unrisen,  like 
a  pancake.  An  enchilado,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a  lit- 
tle bit  of  everything — cheese,  chopped  meat  and  spice; 
with  a  tortilla  on  the  outside,  all  of  which  is  wrapped  in 
a  corn-husk.  Neither  could  be  sat  upon. 

The  railroad  is  a  remarkable  piece  of  engineering. 
It  winds  up  the  mountain  on  a  grade  that  varies  from  3-4 
of  1  per  cent,  at  the  lowest  to  6  per  cent,  at  its  steepest 
— which,  the  conductor  confided  to  me,  was  the  biggest 
grade  any  road  in  the  world  attains,  with  the  exception 


Hopping  Up  to  Cloudcroft  51 

of  the  one  up  Pike's  Peak,  Colorado,  which  is  a  cog  rail* 
road.     I  have  not  verified  his  statements. 

Far  below  one  in  the  valley  you  can  see  the  road- 
bed twisting  along  the  sides  of  the  mountain.  Some- 
times a  bit  of  track  a  short  distance  below  will  have  been 
left  a  half  an  hour  ago. 

Through  the  gap  in  the  hills  far  off  in  the  distance 
could  be  seen  a  stretch  of  pure  white  sand,  the  only  one 
of  its  kind  outside  of  Egypt.  With  the  sun  shining  on  it 
it  looks  like  a  great  field  of  snow. 

From  the  scrubby  growth  of  mesquite  in  the  lower 
part  one  travels  into  the  midst  of  the  healthiest  bunch  of 
pines  and  spruces  near  the  summit  to  be  found  near  El 
Paso. 

Occasionally  one  passes  a  native  on  the  farms  on 
the  banks  of  the  mountain  stream.  The  natives  can  be 
distinguished  from  those  who  have  recently  moved  in 
from  the  fact  that  constant  walking  on  the  sides  of  the 
Sacramento  has  shortened  the  left  leg. 

Their  lot  is  a  hard  one,  for  with  the  train  passing 
them  only  once  in  the  morning  and  again  in  the  atter- 
noon  they  can  spend  little  time  in  waving  and  must  at- 
tend strictly  to  business. 

I  have  read  of  the  engineer  stopping  the  train  to 
chase  a  cow  off  the  track,  but  it  was  not  until  we  neared 
the  summit  that  I  knew  such  things  ever  occurred.  How 
long  the  beast  had  been  ahead  of  us  I  do  not  know,  for 
after  my  attention  was  first  called  to  it  we  gained  on  her 
but  slowly. 

The  passengers  were  cheering  the  cow — the  fireman 
and  the  conductor  were  the  driver's  sole  support. 

In  time  the  cow  became  winded  and  balked.     The 


BJ8  Wong  tlie  Rio  'Grande. 

engine  stopped.  The  engineer,  flushed  with  triumph,  did 
his  duty.  We  continued  to  the  end  without  interruptioa 

The  climb  from  Alamagordo  to  Cloudcroft  takes 
two  hours  and  twenty  minutes.  If  one  is  lucky,  and  the 
brakes  hold,  the  descent  takes  about  the  same  length  ol 
time. 

Our  brakes  held  and  we  arrived  back  in  El  Paso 
after  witnessing  a  mountain  sunset  about  which  the  news- 
paper  writers  there  have  raved  so  often. 

I,  too,  can  now,  as  nonchalantly  as  any  Texan,  ad- 
vise a  stranger  to  "hop"  up  to  Cloudcroft. 


!  CHAPTER  VIII. 

Our  "Starving"  Army  and  Baking  on  the  Border. 

After  a  talk  with  Major  William  Elliott,  the  Depot 
Quartermaster,  U.  S.  A.,  who  has  charge  of  supplying  food 
and  clothing  to  approximately  75,000  soldiers  stationed 
from  the  Pecos  Highbridge  at  Dryden,  Texas,  to  Yuma, 
Arizona,  as  well  as  all  of  General  Pershing's  men  in 
Mexico,  it  is  rather  difficult  to  consider  very  seriously  the 
stories  which  have  been  written  about  our  "starving" 
militiamen  on  the  border. 

"I  don't  know  what  the  men  had  in  the  way  of  a 
bill  of  fare  at  home,"  Major  Elliott  had  said  to  me 
in  his  offices  at  El  Paso  on  a  Sunday — he  works  just  as 
hard  on  the  Sabbath  as  he  does  on  any  other  day  of  the 
week.  "I  don't  know  what  they  expected,  nor  I  don't 
know  what  they  want,  but  I  do  know  what  they  are  get- 
ting. I  know  there  is  enough  of  it,  and  that  it  is  of  the 
highest  quality.  If  the  food  of  the  men  is  unsatisfactory 
it  is  due  to  either  one  or  two  things;  their  supply  captain 
is  drawing  his  rations  unwisely  and  not  availing  himself 
of  the  variety  which  he  is  able  to  obtain,  or  their  cooks 
are  incompetent  and  wasteful. 

"The  most  common  fault  is  the  latter.  Many  of  the 
militia  organizations  when  they  have  gone  into  camp  tor 
the  Summer  have  hired  expensive  civilian  cooks  who  have 
helped  them  to  live  in  luxury.  When  they  come  to  tne 
border  here  they  are  required  to  assign  men  out  of  their 
own  ranks  to  cook  duty.  These  are  apt  to  be  inexperi- 

08 


£4  Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

enced  and  wasteful.  They  are  unable  to  prepare  their 
food  properly  and  effect  a  saving  in  order  that  they  might 
turn  in  their  '•"•used  rations  and  receive  a  cash  credit  with 
which  to  get  other  things. 

"In  the  regular  army  are  trained  cooks.  After  hav- 
ing been  in  the  service  for  three  years  they  are  required 
to  take  a  three-year  course  in  an  army  cook  school.  As 
a  result  the  regulars,  as  a  rule,  draw  about  two-thirds  ot 
the  food  allowed  them  and  are  able  to  obtain  variety  with 
the  money  they  save  in  this  fashion  or  turn  it  into  the 
treasury  of  their  organization.  For  instance,  I  issued  to 
one  regiment  $6,000  worth  of  food  one  month,  and  ot 
this  amount  only  $2,700  was  drawn.  The  rest  was  taken 
in  cash.  Many  of  the  regiments  lay  aside  in  their  treasury 
from  $1,600  to  $1,900  every  month. 

"Most  of  the  kicking  comes  from  men  who  have  not 
been  getting  in  their  own  homes  as  good  food  or  tood  in 
as  s:reat  quantities  as  they  now  are.  Very  little  is  heard 
from  the  man  who  has  been  accustomed  to  the 
best.  Some  of  it  originates  with  those  who  have  arrived 
here  and  have  found  very  little  in  the  way  of  real  hard- 
ship, but  feel  that  they  must  write  home  and  tell  of  the 
trials  they  have  been  enduring  in  order  that  they  may  ap- 
pear in  the  light  of  heroes  when  they  return. 

"I  am  sure  that  75  per  cent,  of  the  people  in  our 
country  at  the  present  time  are  not  living  as  well  as  trie 
United  States  soldier  right  here.  The  present  system  of 
issuing  rations  to  the  men  has  been  the  result  of  a  hun- 
dred years  of  study  on  the  part  of  the  Chemistry  Bureau 
of  the  Department  of  Agriculture  in  determining  just  what 
amount  and  what  kinds  of  food  are  needed  to  maintain 
the  men  in  the  state  of  the  greatest  efficiency. 


A  "starving"  militiaman  on  the  border. 


Our    "Starving'    Army  65 

"A  large  part  of  the  public  labors  under  the  im- 
pression that  contracts  are  issued  to  the  lowest  bidder, 
but  this  is  far  from  being  the  case.  Thirty  dealers  may 
be  bidding  on  a  certain  article,  and  the  process  of  elimina- 
tion will  bes:in  with  the  lowest  and  work  up  to  the  highest. 
The  award  is  determined  by  the  price,  the  quality  and  the 
general  efficiency  of  the  dealer  in  delivering  his  product, 
but  it  is  very  frequently  the  case  that  the  man  who  has 
put  in  his  bid  at  the  highest  price  receives  the  contract  be- 
cause his  quality  is  better  than  that  furnished  by  the 
others." 

The  Major  pointed  to  a  jar  of  blackberry  jam  on 
his  desk. 

"There's  another  example,"  he  said,  tapping  it  with 
his  pencil.  "The  price  fixed  by  the  firm  bidding  on 
that  was  25  cents  a  can,  and  others  offered  to  supply  it  as 
low  as  14  cents,  but  the  quality  of  the  others  was  not  as 
good  and  as  a  result  they  were  rejected. 

"There  have  been  the  usual  cries  of  'embalmed  beetf 
in  connection  with  the  mobilization.  They're  ridiculous, 
for  under  the  conditions  which  prevail  in  army  purchases 
it  is  impossible.  All  of  the  meat  canned  for  the  army  un- 
dergoes three  inspections;  the  first  by  the  Department  ot 
Agriculture  of  the  living  animals;  the  second  by  Govern- 
ment men  after  the  meat  has  been  dressed,  and  after  this 
it  is  prepared  under  Government  supervision  and  accord- 
ing to  their  specifications.  Only  steers  are  used,  and  the 
hind  and  fore  quarters  must  be  of  a  certain  weight.  I 
have  seen  meat  canned  for  Government  and  commercial 
use  side  by  side.  Gristle  and  fat  that  would  not  be  al- 
lowed in  the  food  prepared  for  the  army  was  used  with 
the  meat  intended  for  public  consumption.  It  would  be 


56  Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

impossible  for  any  of  the  men  who  think  they  are  not 
receiving  £ood  enough  food  to  purchase  meat  in  the  open 
market  of  as  hidi  a  srade  as  ours,  because  it  isn't  sold. 

"Meat  packed  in  this  fashion  will  keep  in  perfectly 
good  condition  for  five  years,  but  long  before  there  is 
any  danger  of  its  spoiling  we  have  what  is  known  as  a 
forced  issue — that  is,  the  regiments  are  given  material 
they  must  take  and  a  fresh  supply  is  then  ordered  to  take 
the  place  of  that  distributed. 

"Just  before  this  mobilization  went  into  effect  1 
made  a  forced  issue  of  canned  beef  and  salmon  in  order 
that  I  might  have  everything  fresh  for  an  emergency. 

"Under  ordinary  conditions  the  men  draw  their  ra- 
tions in  two  forms,  known  as  'travel'  and  'garrison.1  There 
isn't  a  great  deal  of  variety,  of  course,  to  the  travel  ra- 
tions, as  they  have  to  be  in  a  compact  form  that  will  keep 
for  a  long  period  of  time.  They  consist  of  hardtack, 
canned  beef,  beans,  tomatoes,  jam,  coffee,  sugar  and 
milk.  The  others  are  made  up  of  mutton,  bacon,  canned 
meat,  hash,  dried,  pickled  and  canned  fish,  turkey  at 
Thanksgiving  and  Christmas  times,  flour,  baking  powder, 
beans,  potatoes,  onions  and  other  fresh  vegetables, 
prunes,  coffee,  sugar,  evaporated  milk,  vinegar,  salt,  pep- 
per, cinnamon,  lard,  butter,  syrup,  flavoring  extracts  and 
bread. 

"It  has  been  figured  out  that  at  the  average  price 
charged  the  Government  for  its  supplies  it  takes  27  cents 
a  day  to  keep  a  man  in  the  healthiest  and  most  efficient 
condition  possible.  If  the  different  regiments  wish  they 
needn't  take  all  of  their  rations.  The  regiments  are  al- 
lowed to  turn  in  all  they  do  not  use  and  obtain  either  cash 
for  them  and  buy  outside  or  from  the  sales  issue  list.  This 


Our    "Starving"    Army  57 

list  conta'ns  a  Treat  manv  items  supplied  to  the  men  at 
cost  price  with  the  overhead  expenses  added,  which 
amount  to  about  5  per  cent,  of  the  total. 

"A  lot  of  the  trouble  has  been  caused  by  the  States 
themselves.  Two  hundred  men  came  in  from  one  of 
the  Pennsylvania  regiments  to  exchange  some  shoes  and 
trousers  that  had  been  issued  to  them  bv  the  State  in  times 
of  peace.  There  were  100  shoes  sized  8-EE  and  seventy- 
five  No.  14  trousers  that  had  been  handed  out  to  the  men 
regardless  of  the  size  they  needed,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
any  sizes  could  have  been  furnished  to  the  State  bodies  if 
application  had  been  made  to  the  proper  governmental 
department. 

"I  don't  believe,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "that  there 
are  many  men  in  the  army  not  receiving  the  best  treat- 
ment in  the  matter  of  clothing,  and  if  there  are  they  will 
find  that  the  remedy  lies  in  their  own  unit. 

"You  will  see  that  the  few  who  are  complaining 
now,  as  well  as  those  who  are  not,  will  return  back  home 
in  better  condition  than  they  have  ever  been  before — 
harder,  stronger  and  finer.  And  some  day  they  will 
probably  admit  it." 

After  visiting  the  different  military  groups  along  the 
border,  my  respect  for  that  household  necessity,  the  Staff 
of  Life,  had  risen  tremendously.  A  lover  of  statistics,  see- 
ing the  army  bakeries,  would  have  a  perfect  orgy.  It 
would  not  make  much  difference  whether  he  went  to 
merely  the  one  at  Noeales,  Ariz.,  managed  by  Lieut. 
Francis  W.  Pinches  of  the  First  Connecticut  Intantry, 
which  works  away  for  the  benefit  of  1 1,000  stom  Chs  in 
the  Nogales  district,  or  that  in  charge  of  Capt.  C.  A.  Bach 
at  El  Paso,  Tex.,  which  doesn't  consider  it  any  trouble  at 


58  'Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

all  to  feed  those  in  the  El  Paso  district,  or  that  in  Mc- 
Allen,  which  bakes  for  the  19,000  of  the  New  York  di- 
vision. At  any  one,  or  all,  he  would  probably  become 
so  full  of  facts  that  he  would  never  after  be  able  to  eat  a 
loaf  without  a  shiver  of  awe  running  up  and  down  his 
spine. 

Captain  Bach  is  quite  proud  of  his  outfit  in  El  Paso. 
I  found  him  watching  the  men  removing  the  steaming 
brown  loaves  from  the  three  field  ovens  near  Camp  Con- 
necticut, at  which  the  Connecticut  troops  are  tented. 

"These  are  a  lot  better  than  the  garrison  bakery," 
he  told  me,  "because  the  heat  isn't  so  intense,  and  they 
can  be  allowed  to  cook  slower  and  more  evenly.  The 
field  bread  is  more  compact  and  has  a  thicker  crust,  which 
enables  it  to  be  kept  much  longer,  as  the  moisture  is  held 
better.  Garrison  bread  will  become  dry  after  a  short 
time." 

"How  much  do  you  turn  out  a  day?  "  I  asked.  The 
question  was  simple,  but  Captain  Bach  is  an  enthusiast. 
Statistics  poured  forth  in  an  avalanche. 

"We  make  216  pounds  at  a  baking  in  each  of  the 
three  ovens,"  he  answered;  "that  means  108  loaves 
apiece.  The  field  and  garrison  bakeries  together  use 
from  15,000  to  16,000  pounds  of  flour  a  day.  In  all  of 
the  ovens  there  are  three  chambers,  each  one  of  which 
will  hold  seventy  loaves.  I've  got  sixty-one  men  work- 
ing for  me  now — a  full  unit — but  when  more  troops  ar- 
rive we  will  probably  have  to  enlarge  our  equipment. 

"Everything  is  designed  with  a  view  to  moving  at 
an  instant's  notice,  and  if  we  were  ordered  into  Mexico 
this  minute  we  could  take  the  ovens  apart  and  pack  the 
whole  shooting  match  in  a  truck  and  be  on  our  way.  At 


Our    "Starving"    Army  59 

the  first  stop  it  would  not  take  us  more  than  an  hour  to 
have  things  set  up  again  and  the  baking  begun.  While 
one  detail  was  at  work  fixing  up  the  stoves,  the  others 
would  have  the  mixing  tent  up  and  prepare  the  dough. 
Pll  show  you  what  the  tents  are  like,"  he  added,  with 
pardonable  pride.  We  turned  from  the  sweating  bakers 
and  entered  the  tents  of  khaki  and  wire  screen. 

The  first  was  filled  with  pans  scrupulously  clean, 
moulding  tables  and  dough  troughs.  In  each  of  the  lat- 
ter, he  said,  150  pounds  of  flour  could  be  mixed.  We 
went  into  the  storage  tents  where  the  bread  was  piled  high 
in  racks  and  where,  unlike  many  places  about  the  camps, 
not  a  single  fly  could  be  found  decorating  the  land- 
scape. 

We  went  out  into  the  open  once  more  and  watched 
the  men  toiling  away  at  their  tasks. 

Neither  the  work  of  the  bakers  themselves  nor  ot 
the  man  in  charge  is  easy.  If  my  opinion  were  asked 
as  to  one  of  the  most  uncomfortable  employments 
in  the  land  of  khaki,  I  would  be  quite  prompt  in  electing 
that  of  breadmaker.  Many  are  assigned  to  the  work. 
The  field  bakeries  at  McAllen,  Pharr  and  Mission,  which 
provide  for  the  New  York  division  at  these  places,  have 
nineteen  ovens.  Forty  men  are  at  work  in  the  first  place, 
sixteen  in  the  second,  while  Pharr  has  seventeen.  Those 
who  have  been  following  the  trials  of  their  absent  boys 
on  the  border  are  partially  convinced,  I  should  judge, 
that  it  is  a  place  where  heat  is  somewhat  extreme. 

At  Camp  Stewart,  about  seven  miles  from  the  heart 
of  El  Paso,  I  have  seen  it  135  degrees  in  the  sun. 
It  is  a  waste  of  energy  to  speak  of  its  being  a  certain  tem- 
perature in  the  shade,  for  a  person  would  get  heat  pros- 


60  Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

tration  In  h's  anxious  attempts  to  find  such  a  thfng.  But 
even  under  the  partial  shelter  of  a  tent  occupied  by  Capt 
D?  Forest  Chandler  of  the  Signal  Corps  at  Columbus,  the 
officers  one  day  were  seen  interestedly  viewing  the  re- 
mains of  a  former  thermometer.  It  was  an  unsophis- 
ticated Northern  affair  brought  down  by  the  captain  him- 
self, and  it  only  provided  for  the  registration  of  120  de- 
grees. It  struggled  nobly  when  the  heat  became  higher, 
but  to  no  avail.  It  burst.  When  one  adds  the  warmth 
of  the  ovens  to  the  normal — or,  rather,  abnormal — heat 
of  the  land  which  we  once,  for  some  unaccountable  rea- 
son, took  away  from  the  Mexicans,  it  can  be  seen  why 
the  position  is  one  not  cherished  by  all.  The  men  as  a 
rule  take  a  certain  pride  in  their  work,  which  is  the  one 
thing  that  enables  them  to  keep  at  It  with  the  spirit  with 
which  they  do. 

Their  hours,  too,  are  long.  Baking  at  McAllen  for 
the  first  shift  begins  at  2  in  the  morning  and  continues 
twelve  hours  for  each  squad.  Other  bakeries  have  largely 
the  same  regulations  and  conditions  which  prevail  there, 
with  the  exception  that  the  hours  in  some  cases  are  only 
ei^ht  hours  a  day.  I  should  suggest  as  an  excellent  cure 
for  strikers  who  feel  that  their  hours  are  too  long  that 
thev  be  given  occupation  for  a  time  among  the  breadmen 
of  the  army,  and  after  the  experience  there  will  be  a  deep 
and  lasting  content  in  their  midst. 

It  is  rather  natural,  when  time  hangs  heavy  on  the 
hands  of  a  soldier  who  wishes  he  were  at  home,  that  tie 
grumble.  He  really  isn't  serious  about  it,  and,  in  fact, 
derives  a  certain  portion  of  his  entertainment  trom  this 
source,  just  as  weepy  females  hie  them  to  a  tragedy  where 
they  can  enjoy  a  splendid  and  gratifying  sobfest.  It  is 


Our    "Starving"    Army  61 

one  of  the  highest  compliments  that  can  be  paid  to  the 
work  of  the  big  army  of  bakers,  then,  that,  concerning 
the  most  important  item  in  their  bill  of  fare,  one  never 
hears  a  complaint — but  on  occasions,  instead,  will  hear 
arising  from  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks  a  muffled, 
"Say,  that's  blame  good  bread.1' 


CHAPTER  DC. 
The  Lost  Mine  of  Tayopa. 

One  day  late  in  July  was  bad,  but  in  that  it  proved 
no  exception  to  a  great  many  other  days  through  which 
El  Paso  had  sweltered.  I  had  spent  the  morning  visiting 
Battery  A  of  the  First  Massachusetts  Artillery,  which  had 
not  been  of  the  slightest  aid  in  becoming  cooler,  as  the 
officially  announced  temperature  of  95  degrees  did  not 
apply  to  Camp  Pershing.  There  was  no  shade  in  which 
to  find  such  frigidity. 

Two  o'clock  found  me  at  the  corner  of  Santa  Fe 
and  San  Francisco  streets.  I  turned  up  the  latter  partly 
because  I  had  never  done  so  before  and  partly  because 
there  was  shade  in  which  I  could  walk.  I  passed  a  rickety 
little  old  place  with  "Cantina"  printed  above  the  door. 
In  the  gloomy  interior  I  could  see  a  few  tables  and  chairs, 
with  some  persons  idling  over  their  glasses. 

I  stopped  and  stepped  in,  for  I  had  discovered  a 
spot  into  which  sunshine  never  intruded — and  sunshine 
had  been  pursuing  me  all  the  morning.  I  reflected  that 
the  shack  must  contain  within  something  of  a  nature  that 
atoned  for  its  shabbiness  .without. 

The  floor  of  the  room  was  of  unpainted  wood, 
though  it  had  long  lost  its  original  lightness  of  color. 
The  plaster  walls  boasted  the  only  paint  on  the  inside  of 
the  establishment.  In  the  far  corner  sat  two  Mexicans 

62 


The  Lost  Mine  of  Tayopa  63 

hunched  over  their  glasses  of  beer.  They  gazed  sullenly 
at  me  when  I  entered.  A  few  feet  from  them  was  what  I 
took  to  be  a  rancher  perched  in  lonely  gloom  on  the  edge 
of  an  insecure  bench. 

I  began  to  regret  having  yielded  to  my  fatal  curiosity. 

The  proprietor  was  nowhere  visible.  I  assumed  that 
he  was  in  ambush.  Being  as  yet  not  thoroughly  conver- 
sant with  the  ways  of  the  West,  I  deemed  it  advisable 
to  purchase  something  before  I  left. 

I  sat  down  at  a  table,  still  holding  with  admirable 
zeal  a  trickle  of  stale  wine  left  by  some  previous  cus- 
tomer. It  was  the  nearest  the  door,  which,  according  to 
my  viewpoint,  was  much  in  its  favor. 

Presently,  through  a  door  leading  to  another  room 
from  which  came  a  jabber  of  Spanish,  stepped  a  buxom 
Irish  woman  with  rolled-up  sleeves — strangely  out  of  the 
picture,  but  a  welcome  link  to  the  civilization  with  which 
I  was  more  familiar. 

"What'll  yuh  have?"  she  asked.    I  told  her. 

While  I  was  waiting  I  heard  the  bench  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room  scrape.  The  rancher  arose  and  came 
toward  me. 

"Howdy,  pardner?  My  name's  Ellis,"  he  said,  sit- 
ting down.  I  mustered  up  a  false  enthusiasm,  indicating 
my  pleasure  at  meeting  him. 

We  exchanged  the  usual  persiflage  of  new  acquaint- 
ances. I  awaited  for  the  real  object  of  his  visit,  for  I 
suspected  that  the  signs  of  the  tenderfoot  on  me  still 
remained,  to  the  casual  observer,  about  as  conspicuously 
as  a  fireman's  parade.  My  wait  was  not  long.  It  ended 
with  the  arrival  of  the  drink. 

"I  used  to  work  on  a  farm  in  Kansas,"  he  began. 


64  Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

"Pd  never  been  in  Mexico  and  knew  nothing  about  it. 
Near  twelve  years  ago,  when  I  was  weeding  potatoes,  I 
had  a  vision." 

\  smiled.   He  scowled,  and  I  stopped  smiling. 

"I  had  a  vision,  I  say,"  he  continued,  "of  a  bunch 
of  mountains,  a  canyon  and  a  river.  At  the  end  of  the 
canyon  was  a  well.  I  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it  at 
the  time,  and  I  thought  nothing  more  about  it.  Twelve 
years  later  I  was  in  Madero,  in  the  State  of  Chihuahua. 

"The  same  vision  returned  to  me,  and  I  made  a 
map  on  a  small  piece  of  paper.  I  showed  it  to  a  native 
and  asked  him  what  it  could  be. 

"He  looked  at  me  with  a  queer  excitement.  The 
Lost  Mine  of  Tayopa,'  he  gasped.  I  learned  that  there 
were  hundreds  of  millions  of  dollars  in  the  mine  in  almost 
pure  gold,  but  long  ago  its  location  had  been  lost. 

"I  intended  to  go  there  to  stake  out  my  claim,  but 
trouble  started,  and  all  of  us  Americans  had  to  leave. 

"Here  I  am  busted.  In  Chihuahua  there's  millions 
in  gold  waiting  to  be  taken  out." 

He  handed  me  a  dirty  paper  on  which  was  drawn 
a  rude  sort  of  map. 

"There  it  is,  right  there,"  he  said,  stretching  across 
the  table  and  pointing  with  a  grimy  forefinger  to  a  circle. 

"I  don't  want  any  money.  I  want  to  be  grubstaked, 
pardner.  Give  me  enough  to  git  a  mule,  some  grub  and 
tools  and  you'll  have  a  half  interest  in  whatever  1  find. 
It  sounds  like  a  touch,  but  I  swear  to  God  I'm  telling 
you  the  truth." 

"I'm  sorry,"  I  said,  excusing  myself  somewhat 
hastily,  "but  when  I  was  a  child  my  parents  made  me 
take  a  vow  never  to  grubstake  any  one." 


The  Lost  Mine  of  Tayopa  65 

As  I  hurried  out  1  heard  him  muttering;  something 
about  a  damn  fool.  I  didn't  stop  to  listen. 

Later  that  afternoon  I  called  on  a  friend  who  is  the 
manager  of  a  mining  company  in  this  city. 

"Is  there  any  such  place  as  Tayopa? "  I  asked,  after 
a  while. 

"Sure,"  he  responded.  "It's  a  little  town  down  in 
the  western  part  of  Chihuahua." 

"Ever  hear  of  the  Lost  Mine  of  Tayopa?  "  To  which 
he  made  reply: 

"People  have  been  looking  for  it  a  great  many 
years.  A  long  time  ago  it  is  reported  that  it  was  worked 
by  Franciscan  monks.  The  wealth  they  obtained  from 
it  was  enormous. 

"The  records  of  the  neighboring  town  of  Guaynopa 
show  a  great  number  of  births,  deaths  and  marriages 
that  took  place  while  the  mine  was  active. 

"About  150  years  ago  the  monks  had  trouble  with 
the  natives  and  they  were  forced  to  depart  for  Spain 
after  burying  all  of  the  gold  and  silver  bullion  and  the 
sacred  ornaments  and  vessels  which  they  had  acquired. 
They  also  made  out  a  complete  report  of  the  location 
and  extent  of  the  Tayopa  mine  for  their  headquarters 
in  Spain,  but  in  some  way  it  was  lost. 

"Years  afterward  there  was  a  tribe  of  Indians  in 
the  town  of  Moris,  near  there,  that  seemed  to  have  no 
visible  means  of  support.  The  Mexicans  tell  how  every 
once  in  a  while  when  their  funds  became  low  one  ot 
their  number  would  disappear  for  four  or  five  days,  and 
when  he  returned  would  brine  a  chunk  of  almost  pure 
gold  that  looked  as  if  it  had  been  cut  rirht  out  of  the 
rock.  All  believed  the  tribe  had  found  the  lost  mine. 


66  'Along  the  Rio   Grande 

"Three  years  as:o  a  woman  came  to  my  offices.  She 
said  she  had  the  records  lost  by  the  Franciscan  monks. 
They  had  been  obtained  from  a  local  Franciscan  supe- 
rior. She  would  sell  them  to  me  for  $5,000. 

"I  asked  her  why  some  of  her  family  didn't  under- 
take the  enterprise. 

"  They  tried  it,'  she  replied.  'One  day  my  grand- 
father started  up  the  canyon  with  a  pack  of  burros.  Half 
way  up  he  was  stopped  by  a  mysterious  band.  They 
warned  him  never  to  return  or  he  would  be  killed.  A 
few  years  later  he  tried  it  again.  He  never  came  back. 

"  'After  that  my  father  made  a  trial.  He,  too,  was 
turned  back  with  the  same  mysterious  warning,  and,  when 
he  later  disregarded  it,  was  never  found  again.  If  any 
one  else  wishes  to  attempt  it  they  can — for  $5,000.' 

"I  didn't  buy  the  chart.  I  believe  she  still  has  it; 
but  as  nearly  as  I  can  judge  there  really  is  such  a  mine 
near  Tayopa  that  will  yield  a  fortune  to  the  man  unearth- 
ing it." 

Quite  hastily,  I  fear,  I  grabbed  my  hat  and  dashed 
to  the  elevator  and  out  of  the  Mills  Building.  I  returned 
to  the  cantina  which  I  had  left  but  a  short  lime  before. 

The  man  of  visions  had  departed.  Even  the  two 
Mexicans  had  gone.  Once  more  the  weighty  waitress 
came  through  the  passageway  to  the  adjoining  room. 

"Do  you  know  the  man  who  was  in  here  named 
Ellis?"  I  asked  breathlessly. 

"No,  sir.  I  don't  know  any  one  named  Ellis,"  she 
said,  and  stooped  over  to  wipe  off  a  table  once  more  sup- 
porting an  overflow  of  beer. 

As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  the  "Lost  Mine  of  Tay- 
opa" is  lost  forever. 


CHAPTER  X. 
Marianna  Culmanero,  Heap  Big  Indian  Chief. 

Only  the  fact  that  he  is  74  years  old  and  is  nursing 
a  bad  case  of  rheumatism  in  his  right  knee  prevents  Mari- 
anna Culmanero,  chief  of  the  Ysleta  Pueblos,  from  re- 
sponding to  the  call  to  the  colors. 

I  know,  because  he  told  me  so  himself  after  an  ath- 
letic conversation  which,  added  to  the  heat,  laid  me  up 
for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

With  a  friend  I  sought  him  out  one  morning  in  the 
midst  of  his  adobe  splendor.  Both  of  us  Americanos  knew 
quite  a  little  English,  but  would  never  give  Cervantes 
cause  to  think  he  had  a  rival  in  Spanish.  Marianna  could 
speak  Spanish  backward  (I  think  he  was  doing  it  most 
of  the  time),  but  his  few  English  words  left  him  some- 
what winded  after  using — for  Marianna  is  old. 

My  Mexicanese  vocabulary  consists  of  about  sev- 
enty words  in  which  the  numerals  and  "muy  bueno"  play 
an  alarmingly  conspicuous  part.  My  friend  is  scarcely 
more  fluent,  but  the  sign  language  and  a  lot  of  excess 
energy  is  an  amazing  thing,  for  we  learned  many  of  the 
facts  of  Marianna's  life — and  many  that  were  not  facts. 

Down  a  long  winding  road  we  traveled  to  reach  the 
ancient  Indian — down  a  road  that  went  through  a  coun- 
try which  even  under  a  100  degree  sun  appears  pictu- 
resque and  beautiful.  A  little  brown-eyed,  barefoot  Mexi- 
can boy  came  toward  us,  kicking  up  the  dust  between  his 
gray  toes.  He  was  singing  with  a  gayness  that  knew  no 

67 


GS  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

yesterday,  something  about  "For  la  manana."  The  whole 
of  a  Mexican's  life  consists  of  to-morrow  (manana),  and 
I  thought  the  song  might  contain  the  secret  of  it.  I  asked 
him  the  words.  He  was  moved  to  excessive  embarrass- 
ment. 

"No  spik  Englis.  My  brother,  he  spik  Englis,"  he 
informed  me,  so  we  followed  him  to  his  mud  home,  from 
which,  after  much  internal  skirmishing,  his  brother,  who 
happened  to  be  his  sister,  appeared. 

She  couldn't  recall  all  the  words  then,  but  assured 
me  that  if  we  called  again  "por  la  manana"  they  would 
be  ours. 

I  asked  her — somewhat  too  pleased  with  my  linguis- 
tic powers,  I  fear,  for  I  had  rehearsed  the  phrase  before- 
hand— "Dond'  esta  la  casa  de  Marianna?" 

She  was  somewhat  startled — I  was  a  little  myself — 
at  the  sudden  burst  of  Spanish.  She  pointed  somewhat 
vaguely  up  the  road,  and  hurried  toward  the  door  in 
which  the  fat,  indiscriminate  form  of  a  wrinkled  senora 
had  suddenly  appeared. 

Marianna  we  found  in  quite  a  pretentious  one-story 
adobe  dwelling — pretentious  in  that  it  had  a  wins:  added 
in  the  shape  of  a  letter  L  and  a  porch  built  into  the  side. 

On  the  porch  were  a  bench,  a  broken  chair  and  four 
dogs,  who  began  to  bark  vociferously  in  Pueblo. 

Marianna  shouted  at  them;  they  reluctantly  stopped. 
When  quiet  had  resumed  a  white  cur  emerged  from  a 
door  at  the  right  and  five  curlets  came  stumbling  after  in 
an  effort  to  overtake  their  breakfast.  Bedlam  broke  loose 
again,  and  the  old  man  had  to  renew  his  efforts. 

Marianna  was  glad  to  see  us.  He  had  just  been 
about  to  drive  a  skinny  brown  horse  to  town,  but  that 


Marianna   Culmanero  69 

Involved  a  lot  of  work,  and  now  he  could  postpone  it 
until  later. 

"Dond'  esta  Marianna? "  I  asked,  for  I  was  not  yet 
sure  of  his  identity. 

"Me  Marianna,"  he  replied,  tapping  his  chest. 

He  moved  toward  his  house.  "Come  sit  down  my 
house/'  he  invited. 

We  learned  afterward  this  was  the  chief  exhibition 
sentence — one  in  which  he  took  a  benevolent  pride,  but 
in  spite  of  our  noble  efforts  it  was  impossible  to  make  it 
play  a  dominating  part  in  our  subsequent  talk. 

"You  heap  big  Pueblo  chief?"  I  ventured.  I  knew 
very  well  he  was,  but  certain  concessions  must  be  made 
in  order  to  start  the  ball  rolling. 

"Mi  hermana  ochenta  y  cinco,"  he  said,  figuring 
it  up  on  his  fingers,  as  an  aged,  bronze  face  peered  from 
behind  the  corner  of  the  mud  wall.  My  friend  and  I  held 
a  council  of  war  at  this  inconsistent  reply.  By  piecing 
our  vocabularies  together  we  figured  out  he  was  inform- 
ing us  his  sister  was  85  years  old.  We  failed  to  see  the 
relation  of  this  amazing  information  to  my  question,  but 
the  old  woman  seemed  to  beam  on  us  with  such  pleasure 
afterward  we  hadn't  the  heart  to  insist  that  he  confirm 
the  big  chief  rumor.  Maybe  he  wished  to  talk  about  ages. 

"Old  woman?"  I  said,  indicating  the  squaw,  who 
had  now  advanced  to  the  shelter  of  a  post,  where  she 
stood  watching  all  we  did  in  silent  approval. 

"Mexicano  muy  mal,"  he  answered,  meaning  that 
greasers  didn't  make  a  big  hit  with  him.  Maybe  I  was 
mistaken — he  didn't  wish  to  talk  about  ages,  after  all. 
We  followed  his  conversational  lead,  and  with  loud  en- 
thusiasm cried:  "Si,  si,"  several  times. 


70  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

In  order  to  convince  him  that  we  thoroughly  under- 
stood his  conception  of  a  Mexican,  we  staged  an  im- 
promptu pantomime,  in  which  my  friend  played  the  part 
of  a  treacherous  native  who  shot  me,  the  noble  Ameri- 
cano, through  the  back.  Marianna  seemed  hugely  de- 
lighted, and  I  began  to  feel  that  we  were,  reaching  a  com- 
mon footing.  He  didn't  like  the  Mexicans,  furthermore, 
because  they  intermarried  with  his  tribe,  with  the  result 
that  the  children  forgot  how  to  speak  Pueblo. 

"How  much  land  you  got,  Marianna?"  my  friend 
wished  to  know. 

"Me  got  Mexicano  wife,"  Marianna  answered. 

This  rather  startled  me  after  the  sentiments  he  had 
already  expressed  regarding  Mexicans.  I  feared  that  per- 
haps we  might  have  offended  him  by  illustrating  the  base- 
ness of  the  Mexican.  In  the  usual  mixture  of  English  and 
weird  Spanish  in  which  we  offered  our  part  of  the  talk, 
we  intimated  that  we  had  only  been  jesting  when  we 
spoke  about  the  baseness  of  the  Mexicans. 

"No,  Mexican  muy  mal,"  he  answered,  and,  with 
this  inkling  to  his  character,  I  no  longer  was  surprised 
to  find  him  inconsistent. 

"Cuantos  acres  land  you  got?"  my  friend  asked, 
thinking  to  get  on  neutral  and  undomestic  ground. 

"Me  got  Mexicano  nina,"  Marianna  announced 
proudly.  At  that  moment,  as  if  it  were  the  cue  for  her 
entrance,  a  pretty,  little  Indian  girl  came  shyly  out  of 
the  house.  My  friend,  who  has  always  been  of  a  practical 
turn  of  mind,  extracted  a  glistening  quarter  from  his 
pocket  and  held  it  toward  her. 

"Muchacho  want  dinero?"  he  asked.     She  acted 


She  appeared  quite  indifferent  as  to  whether  she  got  the 
money  or  not. 


Marianna    Culmawro  71 

quite  indifferent  as  to  whether  she  got  the  money  or  not, 
whereupon  a  frantic  anxiety  evidenced  itself  on  the  part 
of  the  old  man  and  his  sister,  who  still  leaned  up  against 
the  post.  Her  bland  smile  left  abruptly.  Under  their 
weighty  urging,  conducted  in  Pueblo,  the  little  girl  came 
concernedly  forward  and  made  a  hasty  grab  for  the 
money. 

"Muchas  gracias,"  prompted  Marianna,  who  was  a 
stickler  for  manners.  In  a  high,  piping  voice  that  was 
brimming  over  with  self-consciousness,  she  repeated 
"muchas  gracias"  and  retreated  to  her  mother,  who  had 
come  to  the  doorway.  She  delivered  the  wealth  to  her, 
as  every  well  trained  child  should. 

Judging  from  the  irrelevant  replies  which  Marianna 
had  made  to  our  questions,  I  began  to  think  that  perhaps 
he  could  not  hear  well.  When  I  inquired  as  to  how  many 
dogs  he  had,  I  did  so  in  an  extremely  loud  tone  of  voice. 

The  chief  drew  himself  up  dignifiedly  and  informed 
me  "Marianna  no  deaf,"  after  which  he  said,  "woof, 
woof,"  three  or  four  times — perhaps  to  indicate  the  num- 
ber of  animals  having  their  domicile  with  him.  He  seemed 
to  be  hugely  delighted  with  his  dramatic  power  and 
slapped  his  knee  violently,  only  to  start  with  pain.  He 
had  forgotten  his  rheumatism  for  the  moment. 

We  also  ascertained  in  the  course  of  another  two 
hours,  which  did  great  credit  to  our  powers  of  induction, 
that  Marianna  does  no  work.  He  is  the  chief  of  a  tribe 
of  Pueblos,  a  rapidly  diminishing  race,  of  which  there 
are  only  a  hundred  left  near  Ysleta.  Originally  there 
were  500.  The  chief  himself  speaks  the  pure  Indian  dia- 
lect, but  some  of  the  others  are  growing  up  as  half 


72  'Along   the   Rio    Grande 

breeds,  "Cafe,  cafe,"  as  Marianna  expressed  it,  and  are 
neglecting  to  teach  their  children  anything  but  the  Span- 
ish language. 

He  has  married  a  Mexican  woman,  although  his 
first  wife  was  a  full-blooded  Pueblo  squaw.  He  owns 
about  fifty  acres  of  land  and  makes  the  young  bucks 
work  it  for  him  just  as  he  did  in  the  days  of  old. 

When  Marianna  was  much  younger  he  used  to  have 
many  battles  with  the  Comanche  Indians,  whose  trail 
came  near  his  stamping  grounds.  Evidently  the  encoun- 
ters were  not  all  in  his  favor,  for  he  became  quite  breath- 
less when  he  tried  to  tell  us  of  the  splendors  of  their 
horses,  war  togs  and  fighting  abilities. 

Now  Marianna  does  little  but  preside  at  the  three 
"fiestas"  which  his  tribe  holds  during  the  year,  and  in  the 
interim  he  becomes  gloriously  drunk  whenever  he  finds 
the  funds  with  which  to  do  so. 

When  the  conversation  began  to  lag,  for  we  had  im- 
parted to  each  other  all  of  the  information  which  we  could 
manipulate  with  the  few  words  at  our  disposal,  we  got 
Marianna  to  step  out  into  the  sun  in  order  that  we  might 
take  his  picture. 

I  am  afraid  that  Marianna  is  vain,  for  he  accepted 
with  great  alacrity.  I  am  also  afraid  his  rather  handsome 
daughter  is  likewise  vain,  for  she  suddenly  came  running 
from  the  house  and  posed  beside  her  father  before  I  had 
snapped  the  picture. 

After  the  operation  had  been  finished,  Marianna 
seemed  to  be  greatly  troubled.  He  fixed  his  hand  in  the 
shape  of  a  circle,  pointed  to  his  eyes,  and  uttered  some 
words  in  which  the  word  "post  office"  was  the  most 
prominent.  I  believe  that  if  he  had  spoken  in  Pueblo  I 


Marianna   Culmanero  73 

would  have  understood  him  better.  My  friend  and  I 
again  consulted.  We  decided  that  Marianna's  eyes 
troubled  him  and  he  desired  us  to  bring  him  a  pair  of 
spectacles  from  the  post  office.  Quite  triumphantly  we 
told  him  so. 

"No,  no,"  he  said,  and  went  through  with  the  whole 
operation  again.  We  finally  ascertained  that  he  wished 
us  to  mail  him  two  photographs  of  himself,  one  of  which 
he  would  show  to  his  brother  to  make  his  heart  ache 
with  envy. 

He  rose  and  hobbled  in  front  of  us  into  his  house, 
motioning  us  to  follow  him.  The  room  in  which  he  slept 
was  occupied  by  two  beds,  one  flaunting  a  mattress  nnd 
the  other  with  slats  only,  a  stand  containing  a  dirty  comb, 
a  hairbrush  and  a  cracked  mirror.  On  one  wall  was  a 
photograph  collection  of  various  members  of  his  family 
looking  sternly  frightened  as  they  faced  the  camera.  He 
was  particularly  proud  of  one  of  his  thirty-year-old  sons 
in  chaps  and  bristling  at  every  point  of  prominence  with 
guns.  On  the  other  wall  were  colored  prints  of  various 
patron  saints  in  the  Catholic  Church,  for  Marianna  is  a 
devout  Christian. 

"Me  go  mountains,"  he  said,  drawing  forth  a  well- 
worn  brass  crucifix  from  within  his  blue  shirt,  and  then  by 
semaphoring  us  indicated  that  he  never  parted  company 
with  his  cross  even  while  there. 

We  had  to  go,  and  Marianna  again  became  inarticu- 
late about  the  post  office. 

"Muy  bueno,"  we  replied,  again  relapsing  into  the 
pure  Castillian;  "Adios,"  and  left. 

Marianna  would  soon  receive  a  picture  of  himself. 


CHAPTER  XL 
Bathing  and  Other  Sports  in  Ysleta. 

If  ever  I  become  sick  unto  death,  and  undertakers 
begin  to  look  at  me  with  solicitous  eyes,  I  will  pack  my 
bag  with  the  remnants  of  my  fast  ebbing  strength  and  hie 
me  to  the  Valley  Inn  at  Ysleta.  If  life  fails  to  assume  a 
more  cheerful  hue  after  that  it  will  be  because  an  unkind 
fate  has  already  decided  I  have  lived  too  long. 

I  piled  off  the  car  which  runs  there  from  El  Paso 
after  thoroughly  satisfying  an  interested  motorman  as 
to  the  object  of  my  visit  and  the  probable  length  of  my 
stay.  He  assured  me  that  he  would  probably  see  me 
as:ain,  and  I  felt  that  the  sky  was  not  all  clouds,  for  I 
had  a  friend  upon  whom  I  could  fall  back  in  time  of  emer- 
gency. 

Half  way  to  the  inn  I  found  my  path  partially 
blocked  by  a  eentleman  in  shirt  sleeves  gazing  intently  in- 
to the  vault  of  heaven.  I  stopped  and  searched  into  the 
sky,  likewise  thinking  to  see  perhaps  an  aeroplane  or 
something  equally  thrilling.  But  to  my  untutored  eye  noth- 
ing was  revealed  other  than  an  intensely  blue  Texas  sky. 

"Nothing  there,"  he  said  to  spare  me  any  further 
effort,  when  he  at  last  noticed  that  I  too  was  occupied. 
"I  was  just  thinking. 

"I  am  a  philosopher,"  he  explained,  upon  my  ap- 
pearine  somewhat  puzzled. 

We  walked  together  to  the  porch  of  the  little  green 
inn  and  sat  down  to  discuss  the  question  further. 

"What  branch  of  philosophy  do  you  specialize  in? " 

74 


Bathing  and  Other  Sports  75 

I  asked.  My  ideas  of  what  constitute  philosophy  are 
somewhat  vague,  but  I  was  fairly  confident  that  it  must 
have  branches,  like  cooking  landscane  eardenin?  or  trees. 

"Philosophy  in  its  entirety,"  he  said,  adjusting  his 
spectacles  and  inspecting  me  more  closely.  "I  have 
evolved  a  new  system  whereby  I  can  explain  completely 
the  phenomena  of  the  universe — everything  except 
God." 

Mv  respect  for  him  rose  like  a  Texas  thermometer. 

"When  I  was  a  boy  my  ambition  was  to  become  a 
public  speaker.  Later  I  turned  to  the  study  of  philosophy. 
I  am  writing  up  my  theories — they  are  in  five  volumes. 
Three  are  already  finished  and  in  readiness  for  the  printer. 
The  fourth  is  in  hand,  the  fifth  in  preparation.  I  have 
already  worked  five  years  on  them — there  are  about  5 00 
pages  to  each  volume  and  my  task  will  be  finished  within 
the  next  two  years." 

He  went  over  the  first  three  volumes  in  detail.  I 
have  a  confused  memory  of  such  words  as  iconography, 
ter^eminous,  faradization  and  chthonophagy.  Occa- 
sionally I  could  understand  full  sentences.  Upon  such 
occasions,  concealing  my  elation  as  well  as  I  was  able, 
I  would  make  some  pertinent  comment.  As  my  reward 
he  turned  to  me  when  we  had  finished  with  volume 
II.  and  said,  "I  am  surprised  to  find  a  young  man  so 
interested  in  philosophy.  What  business  are  you  in?" 
I  told  him.  It  occasioned  some  alarm. 

"Please  don't  mention  my  forthcoming  works."  he 
said,  "for  it  isn't  ready  to  be  announced  as  yet," — which 
is  the  reason  why  his  name  is  omitted. 

At  page  342,  volume  IV,  we  suffered  an  interrup- 
tion, in  the  person  of  one  of  the  guests  of  the  hotel. 


76  'Along  the  Rio   Grande 

"I  am  not  in  sympathy  with  your  natural  laws  at 
all,"  she  said.  "I  believe  only  in  divine  laws."  I  moved  my 
chair  nearer  to  the  philosopher. 

"I  know  a  lot  of  people  who  would  have  been 
killed  if  they  had  depended  merely  upon  natural  laws," 
she  continued,  and  I  began  to  see  that  there  was  a  prac- 
tical side  to  her  teachings.  "A  woman  acquaintance  of 
mine  was  thrown  out  on  her  head  in  a  rocky  gully  near 
here.  The  cart  passed  right  over  her  neck.  According 
to  natural  laws  she  should  have  been  killed,  but  she  kept 
saying  to  herself,  'I  believe  in  the  divine  law,  I  believe 
in  the  divine  law,'  and  her  neck  wasn't  even  scratched. 

"Another  friend  of  mine  lit  a  gasolene  stove  in  the 
kitchen  and  went  into  the  next  room.  She  heard  an 
explosion  and  ran  back.  The  whole  room  was  in  flames, 
but  she  said  to  herself,  'I  believe  in  divine  law,  I  believe 
in  divine  law.'  She  went  into  the  room.  The  flames 
vanished  immediately  and  she  carried  the  stove  safely 
outside.  What  do  you  think  of  that?"  she  demanded 
belligerently. 

I  thought  it  best  to  go  to  my  room  and  unpack  my 
bag  by  means  of  natural  laws,  so  I  left  her  and  the  phil- 
osopher discussing  the  pros  and  cons  of  her  belief. 

After  dinner,  at  which  a  number  of  officers  from  the 
regiment  stationed  at  Ysleta  were  present,  we  adjourned 
to  the  sitting  room,  where  Mrs.  O.  P.  Lansden,  the  charm- 
ing and  interesting  "manageress"  of  the  inn,  told  us  of 
the  various  raids  recently  made  by  the  Mexicans  in  that 
vicinity  and  particularly  of  the  one  at  Columbus  in  which 
a  large  number  of  those  involved  were  friends  of  hers, 
and  had  either  lived  in  Ysleta  or  had  been  stationed 
there  for  military  duty. 


Bathing  and  Other  Sports  77 

"It  would  not  be  surprising,"  she  said,  "if  another 
raid  took  place  in  this  town,  as  there  are  only  a  few  troops 
and  three  hundred  Americans,  compared  to  the  2,000 
Mexicans  who  live  here."  She  also  told  how  the  inn, 
which  is  more  than  two  hundred  years  old,  being  built 
of  adobe  beneath  its  outer  coating  of  cement,  was  the 
'  frequent  scene  of  activity  on  the  part  of  the  Texas 
Rangers. 

"One  night,"  she  said,  "I  looked  out  and  saw  some 
men  standing  around  the  stove  warming  themselves.  I 
thought  at  first  they  might  be  burglars,  but  I  found  out 
later  that  they  were  Rangers  with  some  Mexican  cattle 
thieves  they  had  caught  that  night.  They  were  getting 
warm  before  they  took  them  over  to  the  jail." 

I  drank  this  all  in  until  it  was  time  for  everybody 
to  retire,  whereupon  I  bethought  me  that  I  would  like 
to  have  a  bath.  A  Bath  (capital  B)  in  Ysleta  is  an  affair 
fraught  with  adventure  and  peril.  The  room  in  which 
I  slept  was  at  the  entrance  end  of  the  long  sitting  room 
opening  on  the  much  longer  dining  room.  The  bath 
was  at  the  exit  end,  a  distance  which  seemed  to  be  about 
a  mile  and  half.  Far  into  the  night  I  waited  until  all  had 
retired  into  their  rooms,  which  open  on  this  passageway. 
I  crept  stealthily  forth,  in  my  hand  a  pitcher,  which  I 
had  planned  to  fill  with  ammunition  for  the  morning. 

I  got  away  to  a  good  start  and  reached  the  bath- 
room ahead  of  the  field.  I  barricaded  myself  and  pro- 
ceeded to  the  tub.  A  medium  sized  but  friendly  tarantula 
had  beaten  me  to  it  and  gazed  benignly  from  the  bottom 
of  the  bathing  machine.  I  hated  to  do  it,  but  necessity 
is  the  mother  of  cruelty,  and  I  gradually  drowned  the 
poor  creature. 


78  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

The  cold  water  refused  to  flow,  but  when  I  turned 
on  the  tap  for  the  hot  water  it  burst  forth  with  a  generous 
enthusiasm  that  more  than  made  up  for  the  deficiency 
of  its  neighbor  and  scalded  me  into  the  bargain. 

A  half  hour  later,  with  my  pitcher  filled  with  hot 
water,  I  opened  the  door  and  gazed  cautiously  out  into 
the  dining  room.  Nothing  was  there,  including  the  light, 
which  had  been  turned  out,  leaving  the  path  to  my  room 
in  darkness.  I  tried  to  remember  the  location  of  the  curi- 
ous table  in  the  room  and  stepped  confidently  forward. 

After  five  steps  I  was  congratulating  myself  upon 
my  success,  when,  with  a  tremendous  crash,  I  tripped  over 
the  leg  of  an  insistent  chair.  I  sprawled  on  the  floor 
in  the  midst  of  the  broken  pitcher.  I  began  to  recall  the 
tales  I  had  heard  early  in  the  evening.  I  expected  the 
proprietress  to  look  out  from  her  door  and  say:  "Is 
that  you,  Villa?"  and  then  some  one  would  empty  a 
forty-five  at  me  before  I  could  clear  myself. 

The  water  began  to  soak  through  my  clothes,  but  I  lay 
as  still  as  a  grave,  murmuring  with  all  the  conviction  I  could 
summon:  "I  believe  in  the  divine  law;  I  believe  in  the  di- 
vine law."  I  reviled  all  the  natural  laws  I  could  recollect. 

Presently  a  door  squeaked  and  a  voice  came  out  of 
the  darkness: 

"Who's  that?"  it  said  somewhat  breathlessly. 

"Just  me,"  I  answered  from  my  recumbent  posi- 
tion, and  then,  feeling  that  I  owed  some  kind  of  an  ex- 
planation, added  hurriedly:  "Hot  water." 

That  seemed  to  relieve  the  situation.  The  door 
closed.  I  arose  and  groped  the  rest  of  the  way  to  my 
room,  rather  successfully,  as  I  only  knocked  one  glass 
from  a  table  at  the  far  end. 


CHAPTER  XII. 
Justice  Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

Somewhere  in  Texas,  in  a  little  town  called  Langtry, 
on  the  Pecos  River,  on  the  outside  of  a  rather  shabby  sa- 
loon belonging  to  Roy  Bean,  Justice  of  the  Langtry 
Peace,  hangs  a  sign  which  reads  "Law  and  Whiskey  Dis- 
pensed Here,"  and  another  below  it,  "Law  West  of  the 
Pecos."  It  is  the  first  inkling  a  stranger  coming  into 
this  part  of  the  country  has  that  the  method  of  apportion- 
ing justice  differs  greatly  from  any  other  part  of  the 
country. 

"Years  ago,"  said  Owen  White,  who  was  telling  me 
of  the  strange  ways  of  this  country,  as  we  sat  on  the 
porch  of  the  Valley  Inn,  "a  man  was  brought  before 
Roy  Bean  on  a  charge  of  having  killed  a  Chinaman.  It 
was  a  new  kind  of  a  case  for  Bean  and  he  didn't  know 
exactly  what  to  do.  He  looked  through  all  of  the  cook 
books  and  encyclopedias  which  formed  the  sum  total  of 
his  law  library,  but  not  a  word  did  he  discover  bearing 
on  the  inadvisibility  of  sending  a  yellow  man  to  the  Land 
of  Rice  and  Birds'  Nests. 

"  'It's  all  right,  "  said  Bean,  as  he  turned  the  man 
loose.  There  ain't  any  laws  I  can  find  against  shootin' 
a  Chink,  so  you  can  beat  it.' 

"Bean  was  quite  a  character,"  continued  Mr.  White. 
"When  business  in  a  legal  way  was  slack  he  tended  his 
bar  and  when  a  case  was  being  tried  he  tended  bar  just 
the  same.  Justice  was  handed  out  along  with  the  whiskey. 

79 


80  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

"Bean  once  had  a  prisoner  before  him  charged  with 
intoxication.  The  Judge  looked  him  over. 

"  'Do  you  drink? '  he  asked.  The  prisoner  assumed 
his  most  innocent  expression. 

"  'Judge,  I  never  touch  a  drop/  was  the  virtuous 
answer.  The  Judge  smiled  and  pushed  a  box  of  per- 
fectos  across  the  bar. 

"  'Have  a  cigar  then,'  he  said,  and  the  case  was 
dismissed. 

"Another  time  the  body  of  an  unknown  person  was 
carried  into  the  saloon.  The  man  had  fallen  or  been 
thrown  of!  the  Pecos  Highbridge.  His  pockets  were 
searched  for  something  by  which  he  could  be  identified, 
but  a  revolver  and  $16  in  cash  were  all  that  came  to 
light. 

"Bean  was  equal  to  the  emergency,  however.  The 
man  is  fined  $16  for  carrying  concealed  weapons,'  he 
ruled,  and  the  problem  was  solved. 

"Justice  is  manipulated  a  good  deal  the  same  way 
in  Shafter,  the  town  where  I'm  living  now,  by  a  peculiar 
old  chap  named  Bob  Dent,"  continued  Mr.  White.  "I 
would  probably  never  have  met  him  if  my  manner  of 
being  introduced  to  the  place  hadn't  decided  me  to  move 
there. 

"1  had  heard  about  it  before,  of  course;  it  is 
one  of  the  few  old  towns  where  the  atmosphere  of  'Wolf- 
ville  Days'  still  remains.  I  thought  1  would  go  down 
and  pay  it  a  visit.  It  is  about  fifty  miles  over  the  hills 
from  Marfa — and  no  railroad  runs  through  it.  When 
a  person  once  gets  there  it  is  rather  hard  to  get  him  out 
if  he  is  undesirable.  As  a  result  they  do  their  humble 
best  to  prevent  any  one  staying  there  over  night,  unless 


Justice  Along   the   Rio   Grande  81. 

there  is  no  chance  of  his  becoming  a  burden  on  the  com- 
munity. 

"When  1  blew  in  there  a  walking  arsenal  came  up 
to  me  and  asked:  'Well,  what's  your  business  in  town? ' 

"I  didn't  have  any,  but  I  kept  the  information  to 
myself.  'Now  that  you  make  a  point  of  it,  my  business 
isn't  any  of  yours,'  I  replied. 

"  'I'll  damn  soon  make  it  mine,'  he  said  and  drew 
out  his  forty-five. 

"  'Put  that  plaything  away,'  I  advised  him,  'or  I'll 
take  it  away  from  you  and  spoil  it  on  your  face.' 

"  'I  guess  we  better  go  in  and  talk  your  errand  over 
while  we're  having  a  drink,'  he  conceded,  so  I  was  in- 
troduced to  Shafter  and  eventually  to  Bob  Dent.  Later 
I  bought  a  ranch  there,  which  I  still  have. 

"Game  laws  are  not  usually  strictly  enforced  in 
Shafter,  but  Jim  Bailey  had  been  violating  them  more  fre- 
quently than  we  thought  advisable. 

"One  day  he  came  into  town  with  three  does  he 
had  shot,  and  boasted  to  everybody  in  the  place  about  it. 
It  was  decided  that  an  example  would  have  to  be 
made  of  him.  Bob  Dent  was  a  little  nervous  as  to  just 
how  Bailey  would  take  it.  After  figuring  the  problem  out 
with  Luke  Russell,  he  planned  to  have  the  latter  charged 
with  killing  forty-seven  quail  and  then  fine  him  to  show 
Bailey  others  were  receiving  the  same  treatment.  Russell 
agreed  and  when  his  case  was  called  before  the  court 
pleaded  guilty.  He  was  fined  $30  and  costs.  He  prompt- 
ly paid  with  money  that  had  been  supplied  him. 

"Jim  Bailey  stepped  forth  for  his  case. 

"'Are  you  guilty?'  asked  Bob,  after  announcing 
that  the  defendant  was  accused  of  illegally  shooting  does. 


82  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

"  'Yes,  Pm  guilty/  responded  Bailey,  'but  all  the 
men  in  Presidio  County  can  help  pull  the  rope  that  hangs 
me  before  Pll  shell  out  any  coin  for  it.'  Dent  was  balked 
only  temporarily. 

"  'You're  fined  two  barrels  of  beer,'  he  said,  and 
the  residents  of  Shafter  saw  that  the  fine  was  paid.  Dent's 
judicial  rulings  frequently  involved  liquid  refreshments. 

"Frequently  in  Shafter  Mexicans  working  in  the 
mines  would  get  too  much  firewater  in  their  systems 
and  make  the  town  uncomfortable,  but  Dent's  methods 
proved  effective  in  keeping  them  quiet  during  long 
stretches  of  time.  We  rounded  up  thirty  of  them  one 
day.  We  didn't  wish  to  keep  them  in  jail  because  the 
jail  wasn't  big  enough.  It  was  an  unnecessary  expense 
anyway.  Once  more  Dent's  ingenious  mind  solved  the 
difficulty.  He  hired  an  interpreter  and  a  court  stenog- 
rapher in  order  that  the  expenses  might  be  worth  while. 
Then  he  proceeded  with  the  trial  of  the  disturbers  of  the 
peace.  They  were  all  fined  generously  with  the  not  in- 
significant items  of  costs  attached.  The  mining  company 
went  bail  for  them  and  required  them  to  work  out  their 
debt.  It  took  them  a  long  time  to  do  it.  During  that 
period  Shafter  was  not  disturbed  by  these  thirty  Mexi- 
cans." 

"It's  a  rather  picturesque  form  of  legal  procedure," 
I  said  when  he  had  finished,  "but  don't  you  think  that 
justice  would  be  doled  out  more  effectively  if  the  courts 
were  conducted  along  accepted  lines?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  answered.  "I've  been  a  lawyer 
long  enough  to  know  that  as  a  rule  a  legal  man's  chief 
ambition  is  to  defeat  the  ends  of  justice.  Take  a  man  like 
Dent  or  Bean,  for  instance.  They  know  the  kind  of 


Justice  Along  the  Rio  Grande  83 

people  they  are  dealing  with,  and  by  using  common  in- 
stead of  legal  sense  they  get  results  which  your  courts  in 
the  larger  cities  can't  touch." 

Shortly  after  my  talk  with  Mr.  White  I  went  into 
the  combination  ice  cream  parlor,  dancing  room,  cigarette 
shop  and  court  house,  conducted  by  Jean  Foix  on  Ysleta's 
main  street.  Things  are  rather  conveniently  situated  for 
Judge  Foix,  as  when  a  case  is  called  he  need  only  step 
from  behind  the  cigar  stand  into  an  adjoining  patio, 
where  criminals  meet  their  just  deserts  over  the  ice  cream 
tables. 

The  Justice,  a  thin  little  Frenchman  owning  the 
town's  only  brown  beard,  was  conducting  a  case  when 
I  entered.  I  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  the  lawyer  for 
the  plaintiff  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  brow  after  a 
heated  accusation  of  the  defendant  and  take  his  seat. 

The  lawyer  for  the  defendant  started  to  arise,  but 
Mr.  Foix  motioned  him  wearily  to  his  seat. 

"We've  heard  enough  talking,"  he  said,  "let  the 
case  go  to  the  jury." 

That  night  at  the  Inn  I  questioned  H.  M.  Colvin, 
who  has  spent  a  good  deal  of  his  time  in  Ysleta,  about 
the  surprising  Monsieur  Foix.  Colvin  told  me  that  last 
year  he  had  brought  a  damage  suit  against  an  El  Paso 
chauffeur  who  had  previously  lost  control  of  his  car  and 
run  into  some  property  belonging  to  an  Ysletan.  The 
chauffeur  was  arrested  and  haled  before  Foix. 

Throughout  the  trial  the  chauffeur's  lawyer  kept 
earnestly  demanding  from  Foix  that  he  produce  the  war- 
rant by  which  his  client  had  been  arrested.  Foix  kept 
assuring  him  equally  earnestly  that  he  could  keep  calm 
and  not  worry  about  the  warrant — he  would  see  it  in  due 


84  Along   the   Rio    Grande 

season.  As  a  matter  of  fact  no  warrant  had  yet  been 
issued. 

Finally,  after  Foix  had  heard  all  he  wished  to,  he 
said:  "It  has  been  moved  and  seconded  that  the  court 
take  a  recess."  The  court  proceeded  to  do  so. 

"Foix  came  up  to  me  right  afterward,"  said  Colvin, 
"and  whispered,  'For  God's  sake,  Colvin,  go  and  swear 
out  a  warrant  I  can  show  to  this  guy.'  '  In  this  simple 
fashion  were  the  wants  of  the  opposing  attorney  satis- 
fled. 

Mr.  Colvin  related  more  stories  tending  to  prove 
that  Foix,  like  other  small  town  Texas  judges,  was  an 
exceedingly  human  as  well  as  practical  person.  But,  in 
the  words  of  the  gentleman  himself,  'There  has  been 
enough  talking.  Let  the  case  go  to  the  jury." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
Forty  Years  Too  Late. 

Although  the  fault  could  hardly  be  said  to  be  all 
mine,  I  arrived  in  Douglas,  Ariz.,  nearly  forty  years  too 
late.  1  went  up  there  to  see  the  entire  First  Brigade  of 
New  Jersey  militia,  the  First  and  Seventh  Cavalry  and  the 
Eleventh,  Eighteenth  and  Thirty-fourth  Infantry  regi- 
ments. It  required  little  perspicacity  to  discover,  how- 
ever, after  a  talk  with  "Hod"  Randall,  whose  Christian 
name  happens  to  be  "Horace,"  though  I  don't  think  his 
family  was  reasonable  in  wishing  it  on  him,  that  the  real 
interest  in  the  land  of  the  border  faded  years  before  the 
soldiers  now  overrunning  the  towns  had  doffed  their 
long  dresses  for  more  manly  and  comfortable  short 
trousers. 

I  was  told  that  I  should  see  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  in 
Douglas,  where  the  soldiers  spend  much  of  their  time,  so 
1  hied  me  to  this  one  shortly  after  reaching  town. 

The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  possesses  a  wide  porch  and  numer- 
ous benches.  I  took  advantage  of  the  liberty  allowed 
a  free  American  citizen  in  this  country  and  sat  down  on 
one  of  them.  In  the  next  pew  but  one  two  men  were 
conversing,  at  least  one  was  talking  and  the  other,  a  tall, 
anxious  looking  man  whose  face  gave  the  impression  of 
perpetually  leaning  forward  like  the  Tower  of  Pisa,  was 
listening.  The  shorter  man,  whose  gray  hairs  were  pro- 
tected by  a  wide  sombrero,  seemed,  in  spite  of  his  age, 
to  be  in  excellent  conversational  trim.  I  argued  such  a 

85 


86  Along   the   Rio   Grande 

person  should  be  able  to  cast  much  light  upon  the  strange 
land  in  which  I  found  myself.  I  joined  them.  The  person 
of  angles  I  ascertained  was  called  Al  Savin  and  the  other 
Hod  Randall. 

"Do  you  know  this  country  pretty  well?"  I  ques- 
tioned brilliantly. 

"I  reckon  I  do,"  said  Hod  Randall.  He  stopped, 
slowly  opened  his  coat  and  plucked  from  an  inside  pocket 
a  match  to  light  his  cigar.  His  partner  took  advantage 
of  the  pause. 

"I   know  a  place "  he  began  with  a  sort  of 

pleased  enthusiasm.  But  Randall  hastily  manipulated  the 
light  and  interrupted. 

"I  reckon  I'm  as  familiar  with  the  border  as  any 
man  in  the  United  States,"  he  said,  with  a  silencing  glance 
at  Savin,  who  relapsed  into  a  discouraged  calm.  "I've 
been  in  every  State  except  Maine,  New  Hampshire,  Ver- 
mont and  the  Philippines.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  did  once. 
I  drove  eighty-five  mules  from  Chihuahui  City,  Mexico, 
to  Denver,  Colo.,  in  1884. 

"I  was  born  in  Petersburg,  Mich.,  but  I  didn't  stay 
there  long.  I  came  down  into  Texas  and  settled  in  a 
little  cattle  town  called  Magdalena.  Drat  that  cigar!" 
He  reached  again  into  his  inside  pocket.  I  heard  a  com- 
motion on  the  other  side  of  him. 

"I  know  a  place  near "    It  was  Savin.     There 

v/as  a  puff  of  smoke  from  Randall,  and  Savin  was  switched 
to  a  siding. 

'Them  was  the  good  old  days,"  continued  Randall 
reflectively,  just  as  if  no  one  had  spoken.  He  stroked  an 
imaginary  beard  on  his  chin.  I  noticed  that  the  fore- 
finger on  his  left  hand  had  lost  its  frst  two  joints.  I 


Forty    Years    Too   Late  87 

looked  at  the  other  hand.  One  joint  was  missing.  "Them 
was  the  days  for  excitement  and  sich  like.  These  boys," 
and  he  indicated  some  of  the  militia,  who,  in  the  room 
inside,  were  writing  to  their  sweethearts,  "these  boys 
should  have  been  around  in  Magdalena  then.  We  had 
men  that  could  shoot  when  they  had  to.  Every  one 
packed  a  gun,  so  there  was  something  to  keep  us  in- 
terested all  the  i:me.  Cuss  that  cigar!" 

Al  was  a  little  quicker.  His  words  tumbled  over 
one  another.  "I  know  a  place  near  Yuma "  I  was  be- 
coming interested.  What  was  it  that  had  happened  at 
the  place  near  Yuma?  But  deferring  his  light  for  a  few 
minutes,  for  he  had  been  taken  unawares,  Hod  inter- 
rupted. 

"Listen,"  he  said  sternly.  "This  fellow  doesn't 
want  to  hear  about  Yuma.  I'm  tellin'  him  about  Mag- 
dalena. 

"Magdalena  was  a  tough  old  town  in  the  eighties. 
We  couldn't  get  a  marshal  to  stay  there  long.  They 
got  shot  up.  We'd  get  'em  from  outside  towns  so  the 
boys  wouldn't  know  their  records,  but  it  didn't  do  no 
good.  I  was  sittin'  in  the  store  one  day  after  our  last 
marshal  had  died  sudden  in  a  shootin'  scrape. 

"Patten,  who  chose  the  men,  said  to  me,  'Hod, 
how'd  you  like  the  job? ' 

"I  said  'No.'  Sittin'  along  side  of  me  on  the  pickle 
barrel  was  a  little  Virginia  cuss  named  Sam  Galen,  weigh- 
ing about  100  pounds.  He  was  a  stranger  in  town.  He 
looked  interested. 

"  'How  much  does  the  job  pay? '  he  asked. 

"  'Hundred  and  fifty  a  month  and  privilege  of  run- 
nin'  a  monte  game  without  a  license,'  I  told  him. 


88  Along   the   Rio   Grande 

"  'Can  Ah  have  it? '  he  says  to  Patten,  kind  of  anx- 
ious. 'Ah  haven't  got  a  job,  and  Ah '11  earn  that  150.' 

"  'Sure,  if  you  can  hold  it  down,'  says  Patten. 

"  'If  Ah  don't  you  needn't  pay  me,'  the  little  chap 
tells  him,  so  he  was  our  new  marshal.  Damn  that  ci- 
gar!" Savin  looked  at  him  rather  cautiously  as  he 
searched  out  a  match.  He  decided  to  risk  it. 

"As  I  was  sayin,'  near  Yuma "  but  before  he 

could  go  further  Randall,  ignoring  him,  interjected  re- 
proachfully, "I  was  tellin'  you  about  Magdalena.  It  looked 
as  if  there  would  be  trouble  for  him  from  the  start,  and  we 
all  expected  it.  He  escorted  all  the  women  that  came 
to  town  up  the  street  and  wheeled  their  baby  carriages 
for  them  and  was  always  around  when  the  high  school 
let  out  to  see  that  there  wasn't  any  swearin'  goin'  on 
near  them.  Then  he  got  the  town  to  pass  a  rule  that 
every  one  must  stop  carryin'  guns  and  hitch  their  hosses 
to  the  post  in  front  of  the  store  when  they  came  up  for 
their  mail. 

"One  day  a  gun  fighter  called  Jack  Bess  rode  into 
town  with  his  gang.  They  were  all  carrying  guns  and 
none  of  them  tied  their  hosses.  Sam  stepped  out  of  the 
saloon. 

"  'Men,'  he  said,  'you'll  find  it  out  soon  enough  if 
Ah  don't  tell  you,  but  Ah's  the  new  marshal  heah.  The 
town  has  passed  a  rule  that  you-all  will  have  to  hitch 
your  hosses  so  they  won't  run  away  and  hurt  the  women 
and  children.  You'll  have  to  take  of!  youah  guns  and 
leave  them  with  the  bahtendah  or  in  youah  saddles.1 

"Bess  laughed.  'Whoever  told  you  you  were  a 
marshal,  you  little  runt? '  he  said.  This  is  the  only  way 
you'll  ever  get  my  gun,'  and  he  started  to  draw. 


Forty    Years    Too    Late  89 

"Sam  snatched  out  his  .45  and  jumped  toward 
Bess.  He  hit  him  square  between  the  eyes  with  the  butt. 
Bess  dropped  cold.  Sam  drew  his  other  gun  and  wheeled 
on  the  rest  of  the  bunch. 

"  'Now,  quick,'  he  snapped,  'drop  youah  guns  on 
the  ground.  In  two  seconds  Ah  stahts  shootin'.' 

"It  didn't  take  them  long.  The  next  instant 
Sam  was  gatherin'  'em  up  as  if  they  was  kindling  wood 
and  took  'em  in  to  the  bartender.  By  the  time  he  came 
out  the  hosses  was  all  hitched.  He  bathed  Bess's  face 
off  and  he  soon  came  around  all  right,  but  that  was  the 
last  time  he  had  any  trouble  with  the  men." 

"Yuma "  essayed  Savin.  1  was  figuring  I  must 

go  to  Yuma  some  day,  just  as  Randall  again  broke  in: 

"Bess  was  a  bully,  but  always  gettin'  the  worst  of 
it  from  some  one,"  continued  Hod  serenely.  'There  was 
bad  feelin'  between  him  and  a  little  sissy  guy  called  'Little' 
MacGhee.  Bess  went  out  for  Mac  one  day  with  a  sawed- 
off  shotgun.  MacGhee,  who  was  out  in  the  street  on 
horseback,  seen  him  comin',  however,  and  got  the  drop. 

"In  his  little  high,  squeaky  voice  MacGhee  said: 
'I'll  shoot  you,  Jack,  just  as  soon  as  you  raise  that  gun.' 
Bess  got  so  excited  when  he  seen  'Little'  had  the  drop  on 
him  that  his  gun  went  off  accidentally  and  blew  his  toe 
off — damn  cigar's  no  good,  anyway,"  he  added,  just  as 
if  it  were  all  one  sentence.  I  had  given  him  the  cigar. 
He  threw  the  offending  weed  far  out  into  the  street  and 
then  turned  to  Al  Savin  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has 
borne  a  great  deal  in  patience. 

"Now,  what  about  Yuma?"  he  demanded  fiercely. 

"Why,  I  only  wanted  to  tell  our  friend,"  said  the 
Pisa-faced  one  apologetically  in  a  high  voice,  "that  a 


90  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

good  many  years  ago  up  near  Yuma  there  used  to  be 
some  wild  camel.  The  Gov'mint  bought  'em  for  packin' 
purposes,  but  they  went  and  got  sore  feet  on  'em  and 
they  were  turned  loose."  He  began  to  hurry,  as  if  in 
fear  that  he  would  not  be  allowed  to  finish.  "They  got 
to  be  bunches  of  'em;  they  stampeded  the  cattle  and 
the  ranchmen  killed  most  of  'em  off.  A  few  years  ago 
some  people  from  Ringling's  circus  came  out  and  roped 
five  of  'em." 

"Huh!"  said  Randall  to  Savin  more  scornfully  than 
I  thought  justified.  "He  knew  that." 

It  was  late  and  I  had  to  go. 

"Come  back  again,  son,"  he  said  cordially,  "and 
I'll  tell  you  about  some  more  shootin'  scrapes  if  I  can 
keep  Al  here  quiet" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
Douglas,  Another  Port  of  Entry  to  Mexico. 

Coming  from  El  Paso  to  Douglas  one  is  allowed  to 
forget  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  that  there  are  any 
human  beings  out  in  this  section  of  the  country.  Jack- 
rabbits,  little  molly  cottontails  and  partridges  pay  small 
attention  to  the  train  as  it  goes  snorting  by,  for  the  only 
care  on  their  minds  is  how  to  defeat  the  undertaker  of 
the  desert,  the  turkey  buzzard,  in  his  mission.  Occasion- 
ally the  vast  stretch  of  mesquite  stretching  off  to  the  dim 
mountains  in  Mexico  is  broken  by  the  presence  of  a 
house.  It  looks  as  if  some  one  had  built  there  in  a  fit 
of  absent-mindedness  and,  when  he  later  viewed  his  work 
in  vast  surprise,  had  been  too  lazy  to  move.  The  engine 
gives  a  whinny  of  joy,  there  is  a  grinding  of  brakes,  much 
commotion  on  the  part  of  the  crew  and  the  train  comes 
to  a  halt.  The  house  is  a  city — perhaps  its  name  is  Con- 
tinental. 

If  there  is  more  than  one  building  in  the  town,  which 
is  not  often  the  case,  it  is  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that 
the  engineer  can  be  induced  to  leave  the  place  of  such 
urban  joy  and  the  stop  is  long  enough  to  give  all  of  the 
inhabitants  ample  opportunity  thoroughly  to  inspect  the 
train,  its  contents  and  to  make  the  appropriate  comments 
amid  great  wagging  of  heads.  If  such  an  interesting  item 
as  its  being  on  time  is  added  there  is  much  joy. 

Continue  this  way  long  enough  and  you  will  find 
yourself  in  Douglas.  Of  course  you  are  rather  curious 

91 


92  rAlong  the  Rio   Grande 

to  know  just  why  Douglas  should  have  been  unloaded  at 
this  particular  place.  The  answer  is  the  same  one  re- 
ceives regarding  any  border  town  of  any  size — it  is  the 
State's  main  port  of  entry  to  Mexico.  Then,  of  course, 
in  the  case  of  Douglas,  there  are  added  reasons,  which 
•consist  of  two  gigantic  copper  smelters,  the  Copper  Queen 
and  the  Calumet  and  Arizona. 

The  Douglas  station  is  quite  magnificent.  After  one 
has  seen  the  town  one  views  this  edifice  in  the  light  of 
a  waiter's  dickey — the  money  has  been  spent  where  it 
will  make  the  greatest  impression.  In  Douglas  there  are 
about  14,000  people,  all  of  them  with  well  muscled  legs, 
for,  in  order  to  negotiate  Avenue  G,  Douglas's  pride  and 
joy,  it  is  necessary  to  be  more  or  less  of  an  Alpine  ex- 
pert. It  is  being  paved  by  the  street  contractors  in  a 
way  best  calculated  to  develop  agility  among  the  citizens. 

Recently  I  was  sitting  down  on  a  curb  waiting  for 
a  car — it  is  for  this  purpose  that  Douglas  curbs  are  built. 

"Who  owns  that  building?"  I  asked  my  next  door 
neighbor,  "pointing  to  a  four  story  brick  building  (they 
don't  grow  much  higher  here). 

"Phelps-Dodge  Mercantile  Company,  of  which  Wal- 
ter Douglas  is  general  manager,"  he  said. 

"And  that  one? "  I  asked  again,  picking  out  another 
at  random. 

"Phelps-Dodge,"  he  answered.  I  became  rather  ir- 
ritated. If  Phelps-Dodge  owned  all  of  the  buildings  on 
Main  street  1  would  disappoint  my  friend.  I  pointed  to 
the  one  most  distant  thing  I  could  see — the  smokestacks 
of  the  Copper  Queen. 

"I  suppose  Phelps-Dodge  owns  that,  too? "  I  said. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 


Douglas,    Another  Port   of   Entry  93 

"And  the  railroad?"  I  continued  hopefully.  The 
answer  was  the  same.  I  gave  up.  Other  people  must 
possess  property  in  this  city  besides  the  Phelps-Dodge 
Company,  but  I  did  not  summon  up  enough  ambition 
since  to  find  out  who. 

Before  1900  there  was  no  Douglas.  It  had  its  birth 
in  that  year  for  the  principal  reason  it  afforded  an  ample 
water  supply  for  the  smelter  which  the  Copper  Queen 
Consolidated  Mining  Company  proposed  to  build  to  han- 
dle the  vast  quantities  of  ore  shipped  from  Bisbee,  about 
thirty  miles  from  Douglas.  The  4,000  regulars  and 
militia  from  New  Jersey  who  spread  their  tents  within 
its  long  streets,  lined  with  low  brick  buildings,  found  it 
a  bustling,  growing  city.  Douglas  was  good  to  the  troops 
and  seemed  to  appreciate  the  wealth  which  they  brought 
to  it  more  than  the  majority  of  border  towns. 

One  of  the  militia  officers  stationed  here,  after  eat- 
ing for  several  days  at  the  Gadsden  Hotel,  decided  that 
the  privates  impeded  too  much  the  service  which  the 
officers  should  receive. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  to  the  proprietor,  "I  think 
I'll  have  the  privates  excluded  from  eating  at  hotels." 
The  proprietor's  attitude  was  calm  but  forceful. 

"If  you  do,"  he  said,  "the  hotel  will  exclude  the 
officers  too."  He  picked  up  the  officer's  check  for  lunch- 
eon, together  with  one  just  turned  in  by  a  private  of  the 
Essex  Cavalry.  The  former's  check  amounted  to  60 
cents,  while  the  other  totalled  $4.50. 

"And  there  are  more  of  them  than  there  are  of 
you,"  the  hotel  man  added. 

In  other  ways  Douglas  catered  to  the  soldiers. 
Band  concerts  were  frequently  given.  The  privileges  of 


04  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

the  Country  Club  were  turned  over  to  them.  Whenever 
they  wished  they  were  allowed  to  sit  in  Douglas's  park. 
In  order  to  give  some  idea  that  this  was  no  small  conces- 
sion, I  quote  from  the  Douglas  International. 

"The  park,"  it  says,  "is  a  fit  gamboling  place  for 
sylvan  nymphs,  spritely  elfs  and  Lilliputians." 

I  was  not  certain  under  which  classification  the 
troops  come,  but  judging  from  the  numbers  I  saw  there 
they  enjoy  the  gamboling  and  other  sports  it  afforded 
to  the  fullest  extent. 

Contiguous  to  Douglas  is  the  little  Mexican  village 
of  Agua  Prieta.  Whenever  Douglas  is  unable  to  enter- 
tain its  visitors  in  other  ways  arrangements  can  be  easily 
made  for  a  Mexican  battle  in  the  town  across  the  border, 
a  good  view  of  which  can  be  obtained  from  the  Arizona 
side  of  the  line.  The  latest  incident  of  this  sort  was  last 
November,  when  Villa  attempted  to  take  the  town. 

A  casual  observer,  going  to  one  of  the  border  posts 
so  that  he  could  be  positive  he  was  not  treading  on  foreign 
soil  and  looking  intently  across  at  the  dilapidated  village 
of  baked  mud,  might  fail  to  realize  why  Villa  struggled  so 
hard  to  invest  it,  for  it  doesn't  look  as  if  it  would  fetch 
more  than  $1.60,  Mexican  money,  at  an  auction  sale. 
But  he  would  be  very  foolish  in  so  supposing,  for  it  is  of 
great  strategic  importance,  due  to  the  railroad  which 
passes  through.  Villa's  failure  to  capture  it  proved  the 
turning  point  in  his  career. 

Over  at  the  Copper  Queen  Smelter  I  ran  across  a 
man  who  had  been  an  eye  witness  of  the  battle. 

"At  noon  Villa's  advance  guard  took  a  position  by 
the  quarantine  slaughter  house,"  he  said,  "but  the  real 
fighting  didn't  begin  until  one.  I  was  here  in  the  smelter 


Douglas,  Another  Port   of  Entry  95 

yard  at  the  time  and  soon  the  bullets  besran  to  whistle 
above  our  heads  from  Villa's  eims  south  of  Agua  Prieta. 
I  saw  a  workman  and  his  wife  standing  in  the  doorway 
of  the  engine  house.  I  told  them  they  better  get  inside, 
but  they  laughed  at  me.  Just  about  then  a  rifle  bullet 
struck  the  tin  roof  and  went  singing  off  into  the  air. 
They  soon  took  my  advice.  Another  woman  was  in  the 
door  of  the  general  offices  watching  the  battle.  I  ad- 
vised her  to  go  in  also  and  right  after  she  had  done  so 
a  cannon  ball  passed  through  the  window.  The  machine 
shop  foreman  was  the  only  person  hurt  here.  A  cannon 
ball  struck  the  heel  of  his  shoe. 

"From  here  we  could  plainly  see  the  artillery  fire 
and  the  shells  as  they  blew  up  big  clouds  of  dust — usually 
quite  far  from  their  target.  There  was  only  one  man 
who  seemed  to  be  a  good  marksman.  He  kept  dropping 
them  right  into  the  midst  of  General  Calles's  men.  The 
Mexicans  were  exceedingly  calm  and  brave,  however.  I 
saw  a  couple  of  young  fellows  leave  a  field  piece  which 
they  had  been  firing  and  walk  casually  over  to  a  michine 
gun  without  even  dodging  when  some  close  shot  dug  up 
the  ground  in  front  of  them. 

"At  6.30  in  the  morning  Villa  retired  after  losing 
200  men.  Only  forty-five  of  Calles's  were  killed  and 
seventy-five  wounded,  yet  enough  ammunition  was  burned 
to  wipe  out  an  army  of  20,000. 

"The  dead  soldiers  and  horses  were  left  out  in  the 
field  for  a  long  time  and  then  some  Mexicans  went  out 
with  buckets  of  kerosene  and  burned  them  up." 

On  two  other  occasions  Agua  Prieta  has  been  the 
scene  of  conflict,  and  each  time  Douglas  inhabitants  have 
assembled  on  the  border  as  interested  spectators.  Things 


96  Along   the  Rio   Grande 

have  been  quiet  for  many  months,  however,  and  when 
the  town  again  awakens  to  activity  it  may  be  due  to  an 
invasion  by  the  United  States  army  stationed  in 
Douglas. 

With  the  greatest  care  I  one  August  night  stuck  my 
head  out  of  the  window  of  a  car  filled  with  workmen, 
most  of  them  Mexicans,  on  their  way  to  begin  their 
nightly  task  at  the  Copper  Queen  Consolidated  Smelter. 
A  short  distance  ahead,  above  the  shadowy  outlines  of 
the  smelter,  rolled  vast  billows  of  flaming  smoke,  as  bril- 
liant as  if  a  city  were  burning  beneath  them. 

I  gazed  awhile  in  profound  thought  and  then  came 
my  inspiration.  The  gateman,  I  had  heard,  had  been 
born  and  raised  along  the  border.  Much  of  his  time  had 
been  spent  in  Mexico  and  his  life  was  inseparably  linked 
with  mining  and  smelting.  With  the  busy  plant  handling 
an  average  of  6,000,000  pounds  of  copper  a  year  as  a 
background  for  the  tales  he  would  tell  me,  I  would  per- 
suade him  in  his  simple,  untutored  fashion  to  unfold  to 
me  fanciful  tales  of  wealth  that  had  been  found  and 
wealth  that  had  been  lost  across  the  border. 

I  jumped  blithely  off  the  car  when  it  came  to  its 
destination  and  stepped  within  the  entrance.  I  searched 
out  my  man.  He  seemed  quite  glad  to  see  me — a  gate- 
man is  more  or  less  isolated  in  the  matter  of  company 
and  he  is  glad  to  see  almost  any  one. 

He  was  the  usual  Western  type  in  appearance.  A 
rather  serious  thin  face — which  the  light  from  the  smelter 
showed  me  was  the  customary  bronze,  a  drooping  mus- 
tache and  a  sombrero  hat. 

We  conversed  casually  at  first  about  everything  In 
general  and  nothing  in  particular.  Occasionally  an  in- 


Douglas,  Another  Port  of  Entry  97 

temiption  occurred  in  the  form  of  some  soldier  who 
wished  to  come  within  to  fill  his  system  with  facts  regard- 
Ing  the  process  of  smelting. 

"You've  been  in  Mexico  quite  a  lot,  haven't  you?" 

"Well,  I  should  say  yes,"  he  responded,  "five  years 
or  more."  There  was  a  louder  roar  than  usual  from  the 
direction  of  the  smelter.  Along  a  huge  beam  amid  a 
great  clanking  of  chains,  a  glowing  slag-pot,  lighting  the 
sky  above  it,  was  being  carried.  At  the  end  of  the  trav- 
eler it  stopped.  It  slowly  tilted  forward.  Workmen 
hurried  away  to  a  safe  distance  as  a  stream  of  orange 
molten  metal  poured  forth  into  the  car  below  it,  splashing 
a  fountain  of  bright  drops  into  the  air. 

"It's  beautiful,  isn't  it?"  I  said,  enthusiastically. 

"I've  seen  it  pretty  often,"  was  his  rather  non-com- 
mittal answer. 

I  returned  hastily  to  our  former  topic  of  conversa- 
tion. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  lost  mines  while  you 
were  down  in  the  country?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  yes;  there  was  lots  of  them  tales  floating 
around,"  he  said.  At  intervals  of  a  few  minutes  the  slag 
pot  would  be  dumped  and  the  darkness  be  banished  by 
a  blaze  of  color.  Things  were  as  I  had  hoped. 

"I  never  paid  much  attention  to  them,  though  of 
course  there's  places  in  Sonora  where  there's  a  pile  of 
rich  gold  and  silver  and  copper  ore  and  the  like  of  that, 
but  I  didn't  ever  take  much  stock  in  them." 

"Did  you  ever  hear,"  I  continued,  "that  a  few  years 
after  Cortez  had  conquered  the  country  he  sent  out  ex- 
ploration parties  all  over  Mexico,  who  discovered  great 
quantities  of  gold  and  silver?  In  1530  Alminidez  Chiri- 


98  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

nos  had  gone  up  as  far  as  the  mouth  of  the  Yaqui  River, 
followed  by  De  Vaca,  and  the  latter  brought  back  a  report 
that  the  place  was  literally  jammed  with  gold." 

The  gateman  became  mildly  interested.  "There's 
lots  of  them  tales,"  he  repeated,  "but  I  don't  believe  'em." 

I  became  more  eloquent. 

"One  of  De  Vaca's  men,"  I  said,  "by  the  name  of 
Sebastian,  told  how  he  saw  the  'Seven  Cities  of  Cibola,' 
ruled  by  King  Tatrax,  seated  in  gorgeously  jeweled  robes 
on  a  throne  of  gold  before  an  1 8-karat  cross.  Mermaids 
sat  about  him  playing  on  diamond  harps." 

I  looked  at  him  expectantly. 

"There  may  be  mermaids  and  thrones  of  gold  and 
sich  like,"  he  replied  dubiously,  "but  I  never  seen  them." 

"There's  another  mine  they  tell  about,"  I  continued 
undaunted,  fixing  my  gaze  on  the  pot  of  fire  once  more 
undergoing  the  splendor  of  being  emptied,  "which  was 
discovered  by  the  Yaqui  Indians  during  the  first  half  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  It  was  called  the  Plancha  de 
Plata.  The  Jesuits  took  from  it  immense  quantities  of 
almost  pure  silver — some  of  the  nuggets  as  heavy  as 
twenty  and  fifty  pounds. 

"One  day  they  unearthed  a  lump  weighing  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  ton.  They  loaded  it  between  two 
mules  and  took  it  to  the  capital.  There  it  was  seized  by 
the  Government,  who  declared  that  this  nugget  and  all 
the  others  previously  taken  out  belonged  to  the  crown. 
After  this  the  Indians  and  Jesuits  proceeded  to  'lose'  the 
mine." 

I  paused.  He  contemplatively  dug  up  the  alkali 
with  the  point  of  his  shoe. 

"I  think  folks  gets  to  exaggeratin'  when  they  tell 


Douglas,   Another  Port   of   Entry  99 

stories  like  that,"  he  said.  "I  don't  believe  they  ever 
found  no  ore  weighing  a  quarter  of  a  ton  and  the  like  of 
that.  I  did  hear  tell  once  that  in  the  northern  part  of  the 
Magdalena  Mountains  they  was  a  mine  a  fellow  worked 
that  paid  good.  When  he  died  he  wouldn't  tell  no  one 
where  it  was  and  they've  been  a-lookin'  for  it  ever  since." 

1  became  quite  excited.  "What  was  the  name  of 
the  man  that  found  it?  "  I  asked. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  "  I  don't  reckon  I  just  recall 
now.  I  never  did  take  much  interest  in  yarns  about 
silver  and  the  like  of  that.  Up  here  about  four  miles," 
and  he  jerked  a  thumb  over  his  shoulder  toward  Arizona 
in  general,  'lives  a  ranchman  that  could  probably  tell 
you,  though.  He  offered  a  reward  of  $30,000  for  any 
one  that  located  the  mine." 

"And  what's  his  name?"  I  asked. 

I  was  getting  down  to  bedrock.  He  paused  a 
moment  in  thought.  "Well,  I  declare,"  he  drawled  after 
a  moment  in  mild  astonishment.  "I  reckon  I  can't  just 
recall  that  now." 

I  decided  to  try  him  on  something  else. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Dona  Maria,  the  widow  of 
an  old  Spaniard  called  De  Rodrigues?"  I  asked.  "They 
say  she  saved  nuggets  of  gold  taken  from  her  husband's 
mine  for  years,  until  she  had  enough  to  make  a  load  for 
a  caravan  of  forty  mules.  Then  she  took  it  to  Mexico 
City,  where  she  put  it  in  the  safe-keeping  of  the  Spanish 
viceroy.  A  short  time  after  she  disappeared  and  the 
bullion  was  appropriated  by  the  Government  Treasury. 

"I  knew  a  good  many  Dona  Mnrhs  in  Mexico  Cit" 
and  one  place  and  another,"  he  responded  after  due 
thought,  "but  I  don't  reckon  it  was  the  same  gal  at  all, 


100  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

for  I  never  did  hear  no  sich  tale  as  that.  As  I  said  I 
don't  believe  that  I  would  take  much  stock  in  it  if  I  had. 
They's  always  people  tellin'  you  hard  luck  stories  like 
that  down  there  and  I  come  so  that  I  never  pay  much 
attention  to  them.  They's  gold  down  there  sure,  and 
silver,  sure,  but  they's  a  heap  sight  more  now  that  people 
can't  get  into  Mexico  than  there  would  be  once  they  got 
down  there  lookin1  for  it.  I  suppose  they's  some  lost 
Spanish  mines.  They  get  lost  quicker  than  the  others. 
But  I  dunno,  I  reckon  I'll  stay  here  awhile." 

"Why  do  they  get  lost  quicker  than  the  others?" 
I  asked.  Perhaps  I  could  learn  something  definite  from 
him. 

"Well,"  he  replied,  "they  went  in  shorter  holes. 
They'd  dig  down  aways  and  put  in  a  long  pole  with 
notches  in  it  that  they  could  fit  benches  in.  Then  they'd 
dig  in  sideways  a  bit  and  go  down  again  with  another  pole. 
Our  shafts  is  made  deeper  and  it  would  take  one  of  'em 
ten  times  as  long  to  fill  up  as  it  would  one  of  those  old 
Spanish  fellows.  So  that's  why  they  get  lost  so  easy," 
he  concluded. 

A  car  came  rattling  up  to  the  plant.  They  only 
run  every  hour,  so  I  bid  him  adios  and  climbed  aboard. 
I  was  not  sure  as  I  gazed  back  at  the  big  black  serpent 
climbing  out  of  the  funnel  to  blot  out  the  stars  above 
whether  I  had  interviewed  or  been  interviewed  by  the 
gateman.  But  any  way  "I  reckon  I  don't  take  much  stock 
in  interviews  of  the  accepted  form  and  the  like  of  that" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Bisbee,  the  Hidden  City. 

If  some  one  were  to  take  you  to  the  top  of  some 
high  mountain,  ten  or  fifteen  miles  from  Bisbee,  from 
which  a  complete  view  of  the  surrounding  country  and 
its  hills  could  be  obtained,  and  then  told  you  upon  pain 
of  death  to  "go  find  Bisbee,"  your  life  would  be  in  im- 
minent danger.  Bisbee  is  built  in  the  Mule  Mountains  in 
a  gulch  and  is  about  as  well  hidden  from  the  disturbing 
gaze  of  the  outside  public  as  it  well  could  be.  It  is  not 
until  one  gets  within  a  few  miles  of  it  that  there  is  the 
slightest  hint  of  its  existence.  It  springs  out  at  you  when 
you  approach,  in  a  struggling  train,  with  the  suddenness 
of  a  practical  joker. 

Once  on  the  main  street,  however,  you  can  see 
practically  all  of  it  at  once — just  gaze  up  into  the  air  and 
there  it  is.  It  looks  as  if  some  huge  ogre,  in  a  fit  of  ennui, 
had  thrown  a  bunch  of  houses  in  the  gully  and  said, 
"Now  climb  up,  cuss  you."  The  houses  which  had  kept 
in  the  best  physical  trim  climbed  the  highest  and  left  their 
dirtier,  less  agile  fellows  on  the  lower  levels. 

The  word  high  class  must  have  originated,  in  Bisbee, 
for  the  higher  one  goes  the  better  is  the  society  in  which 
he  finds  himself. 

Of  course  there  are  drawbacks  as  well  as  advantages 
in  this  business  of  building  on  the  side  of  a  mountain. 
Two  years  ago  a  man,  in  a  fit  of  intoxication,  stepped  off 
his  back  yard  one  night  and  landed  fifty  feet  below  on  the 

101 


10%  Along   tin  Rio  Grande 

property  of  a  total  stranger.  The  man  below,  ordinarily 
hospitable,  mistook  the  visitor  for  a  burglar,  and  before 
the  proper  explanations  could  be  made  pumped  him  full 
of  lead  from  the  ever  ready  forty-five. 

Sometimes  a  fit  of  hunger  will  overtake  one  of  the 
brethren  on  the  heights  above.  Absent-mindedly  he  will 
throw  his  orange  peels  into  the  air  in  front  of  him. 
He  means  no  harm,  but  it  may  happen  that  below  him 
some  one  is  entertaining  guests  on  his  front  porch,  and 
the  bombardment  is  apt  to  have  a  disturbing  effect.  Such 
things  as  this  are  not  designed  to  promote  friendly  feel- 
ings, but,  nevertheless,  the  citizens  of  Bisbee  seem  to  be 
on  exceedingly  cordial  relations,  a  fact  for  which  I  have 
not  been  able  properly  to  account. 

The  jitney  drivers  of  Bisbee  possess  a  low  and 
vicious  cunning.  When  I  stepped  off  the  train  on  my 
visit  to  the  place  I  approached  one  of  them.  I  asked  him 
to  take  me  to  the  Copper  Queen  Hotel.  As  the  car  was 
starting,  my  curiosity  prompted  me  to  inquire  the  fare. 

"Fifty  cents,"  he  answered.  I  was  not  surprised, 
for  in  this  country  the  prices  seem  to  rise  with  the  alti- 
tude. The  machine  heaved  noisily  and  proceeded  fifty 
feet  or  so  up  a  hill — in  this  city  none  of  the  streets  is 
level — and  stopped. 

"What's  the  matter — car  busted?"  I  inquired,  sym- 
pathetically. 

"Nope,11  he  answered.  "This  is  the  Copper  Queen 
Hotel." 

It  is  not  difficult  after  reaching  the  hostelry  to  amuse 
one's  self  for  a  considerable  length  of  time  in  an  extreme- 
ly sedentary  manner  by  sitting  with  the  rest  of  the  throng 
on  the  porch.  In  front  are  the  brick  offices  of  the  Phelps- 


Bisbee,    the    Hidden    City  103 

Dodge  Mercantile  Company,  with  an  incipient  park  by 
its  side.  High  above  it  towers  the  Sacramento  Hill.  Ly- 
ing on  its  side,  like  some  huge  caterpillar,  is  a  tremendous 
pipe,  formerly  used  in  a  smelting  plant,  but  not  yet  re- 
moved. The  height  is  dotted  with  many  prospect  holes 
so  high  up  they  look  like  the  entrance  to  some  prairie 
dog's  abode. 

I  had  not  been  there  long  before  a  leathery  faced 
Mexican  passed  up  the  street  driving  a  dozen  heavily 
loaded  burros.  These  animals  can  be  bought  for  any- 
where from  50  cents  to  $7  and  are  more  intelligent  than 
the  Mexicans  that  own  them.  Half  an  hour  after  this  I 
saw  the  same  man  and  his  entourage  winding  up  the  side 
of  the  hill  in  front,  although  how  he  got  there  I  am  unable 
to  say. 

I  wearied  of  the  porch  after  a  time,  however,  and 
walked  up  the  main  street.  It  was  filled  with  miners  and 
business  people.  There  are  fewer  Mexicans  among  the 
number  than  one  is  in  the  habit  of  seeing  along  the  border. 
The  streets  are  barely  wide  enough  to  permit  two  vehicles 
to  pass  one  another.  The  sidewalks  were  designed  for 
the  express  purpose  of  making  the  arduous  task  of  the 
pickpocket  easier.  Half  way  up  the  main  street,  which  is 
lined  with  dingy  brick  buildings,  two  or  three  stories  high 
— no  adobe  is  used — a  large  crowd  was  gathered.  Be- 
fore an  innocent  restaurant  called  the  English  Lunch 
Room  a  union  picket  informed  all  who  came  within  his 
range  that  "this  is  an  unfair  shop,  boys.  Ten  hours  a 
day  they  work." 

I  learned  that  since  the  properietor  had  refused  to 
meet  the  eight-hour  demands  of  his  workers,  he  had  lost 
$4,000.  One  day  he  tried  the  expedient  of  conspicuously 


104      k        .  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

carrying  a  forty-five  in  his  hip  pocket  when  he  left  with 
his  non-union  men.  He  was  arrested  for  carrying  con- 
cealed weapons. 

He  has  since  been  sitting  with  waiters  for  his  sole 
company  in  weaponless  splendor. 

In  all  this  bold  West  there  is  none  who  has 
dared  the  wrath  of  the  union  men  to  eat  within.  I  was 
strongly  tempted  to  do  so  myself,  but  after  a  glance  at 
the  crowd  decided  I  did  not  wish  to  make  a  Roman  holi- 
day for  them. 

I  asked  the  pompous  picket  where  he  would  advise 
eating,  and  proceeded  on  my  way  with  his  admonition 
that  "this  is  an  unfair  shop,  boys,"  still  ringing  in  my 
ears. 

In  the  days  of  old  fire  and  flood  were  the  biggest 
terrors  of  the  Bisbee  inhabitant.  The  main  street  would 
sometimes  be  knee  deep  in  a  surging  torrent  from  the 
mountains.  If  one  of  the  houses  on  a  lower  level  caught 
afire  it  was  not  long  before  those  looking  down  haughtily 
from  above  were  in  the  same  fix.  Now,  I  was  told  by 
a  long  bearded  citizen,  there  is  an  adequate  system  of 
fire  protection,  and  well  planned  drains  foil  the  fury  of 
the  elements.  Mebbe  so,  but  it  is  my  private  opinion  that 
the  fire  engines  must  be  modelled  on  the  plan  of  aero- 
planes to  be  sufficiently  effective  and  the  sewers  in  the 
rainy  season  must  have  much  in  common  with  the  Bay  of 
Fundy  when  the  tide  is  ebbing. 

One  of  the  picturesque  features  of  a  Bisbee  fire  Is 
that  if  a  person  trapped  on  the  third  floor  undertook  a 
too  enthusiastic  jump  he  would  be  apt  to  land  a  half  a 
mile  or  so  below.  It  would  be  a  long  climb  back  again. 
I  saw  the  charred  ruins  still  standing  of  a  couple  of  build- 


Bistee,    the    Hidden    City  105 

Ings  in  the  direction  of  the  Warren  District.  The  fire  had 
ceased  when  there  was  nothing  left  to  burn. 

All  of  Bisbee's  water,  for  fire  and  other  purposes,  is 
piped  from  the  town  of  Naco,  about  six  miles  distant 

Its  elevation  of  5,030  feet  gives  Bisbee  certain  ad- 
vantages besides  an  attractive  climate.  Its  principal 
business,  of  course,  is  copper  mining,  and  all  of  the  ore 
produced  by  the  Copper  Queen  and  C.  &  A.  mines  is  put 
In  ore  cars,  which,  on  account  of  the  elevation,  are  able 
to  coast  without  engine  assistance  all  of  the  way  to  Doug- 
las, over  twenty-five  miles  away.  The  engine's  task  of 
pulling  them  back  again  is  simple,  for  they  are  then 
empty. 

Bisbee  is  theoretically  a  "dry"  town,  but  if  some 
poor  person  were  to  find  himself  in  the  street  simply  un- 
able to  endure  thirst  longer,  there  would  be  no  real  neces- 
sity for  him  to  do  so.  He  need  merely  say,  in  a  rather 
loud  tone  of  voice  to  the  world  in  general,  ''Gosh,  how 
I  would  like  a  bottle  of  beer,  or  even  something  stronger," 
and  his  fiery  godmother,  in  the  person  of  some  decrepit 
bootlegger,  would  appear  like  magic  by  his  side  to  guide 
him  to  some  place  where  he  could  obtain  "a  bottle  of 
beer  or  even  something  stronger."  If  he  disliked  being 
dependent  upon  some  one  in  this  fashion  and  wished  to 
get  it  by  his  own  unaided  efforts,  he  could  stroll  up  the 
street  called  the  Canon  and  find  what  he  wished  at  the 
majority  of  the  places  to  be  located  there. 

On  the  same  street,  which  reminds  one  with  its 
disreputable,  tumble-down  buildings  of  some  foreign  city, 
gambling  still  continues  in  full  swing,  just  as  it  did  in  the 
early  days  of  the  mining  camp.  In  any  one  of  the  pool- 
rooms or  dance  halls  whose  doors  remain  wide  open 


106  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

one  can  lose  his  money  at  everything  from  faro  to  roulette 
just  as  easily  as  at  Monte  Carlo. 

The  city  at  night  is  beautiful,  for  out  of  the  darkness 
along  the  sides  of  the  mountain  gleam  thousands  of 
lights  that  give  one  the  impression  that  the  whole  in- 
terior of  the  hill  is  lighted  and  holes  had  been  punched 
in  the  surface  to  let  the  brilliance  through.  The  illumina- 
tion is  supplied  by  nearly  14,000  inhabitants,  23,000,  if 
one  is  including  the  entire  Warren  District,  embracing  Bis- 
bee,  Lowell  and  Warren.  The  city  is  still  growing,  I  am 
told  on  good  authority.  A  few  years  later  I  would  like 
to  return  and  see  where  it  has  grown  to.  I  think  when 
that  day  comes  it  will  have  burst  its  skin. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
Down  in  Bisbee's  Stomach. 

All  of  Bisbee's  past  and  all  of  its  future  are  wrapped 
up  in  mining.  Thirty-nine  years  ago  work  was  first  begun 
on  copper  claims  in  that  district.  It  has  been  continued 
feverishly  ever  since.  Were  the  ore  bodies  belonging 
to  the  Copper  Queen  and  the  Calumet  and  Arizona  com- 
panies to  be  exhausted,  Bisbee  would  doubtless  heave  a 
last  gasp  of  weariness  and  disappear  from  the  map  of 
Arizona  as  quickly  as  it  was  born.  More  than  five  thou- 
sand miners  would  be  thrown  out  of  employment  and 
twenty  thousand  inhabitants  would  have  to  pull  up  and 
look  elsewhere  for  a  city. 

In  August,  1878,  Jack  Dunn  and  his  partners  wan- 
dered into  Mule  Gulch  and  staked  out  a  claim  which  later 
proved  to  be  one  of  the  richest  in  the  country.  Later, 
after  much  litigation  between  the  various  mining  com- 
panies of  the  district,  it  was  taken  over  by  the  Copper 
Queen  Consolidated.  Mule  Gulch  became  Bisbee,  and  the 
name  Jack  Dunn,  as  a  rule,  will  bring  forth  merely  a 
blank  expression  when  mentioned  to  the  average  Bisbee 
citizen.  Ever  since  the  days  of  Dunn,  however,  tons  of 
ore  have  been  pouring  out  of  the  mines  yearly  and  the 
interior  of  the  hills  would  make  an  ant  blush  for  his  lack 
of  industry.  Stretching  more  than  five  hundred  yards  up 
the  red  side  of  the  hill  in  which  the  Southwest  claim  is 
located  can  be  seen  two  jagged  cracks,  about  two  feet 

107 


108  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

across,  caused  by  settling  resulting  from  the  mining  going 
on  underneath.  They  are  opening  at  the  rate  of  an  inch 
a  month. 

Yet  the  mind  of  the  Bisbeean  concerns  itself  little 
about  how  much  longer  the  presence  of  copper  will  allow 
him  to  dwell  in  Mule  Gulch.  He  will  move  when  the 
time  comes;  until  it  does  come  he  will  stay  in  Bisbee.  In 
spite  of  his  apathy,  however,  I  decided  to  visit  one  of  the 
claims,  examine  it  carefully  and  let  the  good  people  know 
about  how  much  longer  they  might  expect  to  remain. 
If  they  were  caught  unprepared  after  that  it  would  be 
their  own  fault. 

Harry  Anderson,  the  night  foreman  of  the  Copper 
Queen,  took  me  down.  I  found  him  in  a  wooden  shack 
near  what  is  called  the  Czar  shaft.  He  was  born  in  an- 
other mining  camp,  Leadville,  Colorado,  and  has  been 
in  the  mining  business  ever  since.  He  gave  me  some  old 
clothes  to  put  on.  After  I  had  changed  I  went  over  to 
the  shaft  where  the  night  shift  was  being  taken  down 
in  the  two  elevators  that  came  dripping  to  the  surface 
every  one  or  two  minutes.  Nine  of  them  with  their 
lighted  carbide  lanterns  gleaming  in  their  hats  above  their 
pale  faces  would  crowd  into  the  lift  at  once  and  be  shot 
down  into  the  depths  below.  I  looked  over  the  sides  of 
the  shaft,  but  the  darkness  within  was  so  intense  that  after 
they  had  dropped  about  twenty  feet  they  were  invisible. 

Before  long  it  came  our  turn  and  I  stepped  in  after 
Mr.  Anderson  in  the  most  approved  miner  style.  In  an- 
other second  I  was  wondering  whether  it  would  be  eti- 
quette to  ask  them  to  stop  to  return  for  my  stomach, 
which  somehow  or  other  seemed  to  have  been  left  above. 
An  instant  later,  however,  I  learned  that  this  would  be 


Down   in   Bisbee's  Stomach  10t 

unnecessary,  for  the  elevator  halted  with  a  bang  and  I 
became  acutely  conscious  that  my  organ  had  returned. 

My  impressions  after  that  point  were  somewhat 
vague,  though  turbulent.  My  most  vivid  recollections  are 
of  what  had  been  suggestively  termed  the  "Rat  Hole," 
although  it  was  some  time  before  we  reached  it.  With 
our  shoes  sucking  through  the  mud,  the  dim  rays  of  the 
lantern  disclosing  a  narrow  dripping  tunnel  enforced  with 
beams,  we  sloshed  along  until  we  came  to  a  couple  of 
men  having  a  cozy  time  in  a  little  side  chamber  digging 
away  the  roof.  They  were  making  a  "raise"  to  reach  the 
ore  which  lay  above  the  drift  of  limestone  in  which  we 
found  ourselves  at  that  time. 

"Hello,  Harry,"  said  one  of  them.  "It's  workin'  a 
bit  over  in  'H'." 

We  crawled  down  numberless  ladders  which  de- 
scended in  a  series  of  fifteen  foot  flights.  I  figured  that 
we  must  be  1,200  feet  underground.  We  reached  "H" 
at  last,  where  a  dirty  faced  gentleman  by  the  name  of 
Jack  and  his  similar  faced  partner  Bill  were  picking  away 
at  some  reddish  looking  clay  splotched  with  streaks  of 
black.  Above  their  heads  the  timbers  sagged,  big,  heavy 
things,  eight  inches  square. 

"She's  begun  to  work  a  little,  Harry,"  they  said. 

"If  it  gets  bad  leave  it  and  go  to  some  other  stope," 
he  replied. 

We  groped  along  for  another  five  minutes.  Down 
another  slimy  ladder  we  crawled,  the  water  trickling  down 
my  neck  like  an  April  rain. 

"I  wish  you  had  time  to  go  over  to  the  Dividend," 
Harry  exclaimed,  enthusiastically  below  me.  "It's  knee 
deep  there  in  water  after  a  rain,  and  you  can  get  a  shower 


110  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

bath  any  time  you  want."  I  was  glad  to  hear  his  voice, 
because  he  disappeared  from  sight  at  each  new  landing, 
and  it  was  comforting  to  know  that  I  could  reach  his  ears 
with  a  lusty  cry  for  help.  Even  so,  it  was  impossible  for 
me  to  wax  ardent  about  the  Dividend  or  shower  baths. 
I  was  absorbing  at  that  moment  all  the  moisture  a  person 
not  inherently  grasping  could  desire. 

The  ladders  ceased.  We  had  come  to  the  bottom 
of  that  particular  shaft.  At  one  side  the  lantern  revealed 
an  opening  almost  closed  by  a  beam  cracked  in  the 
middle. 

"This  is  the  'Rat  Hole,1 "  said  my  guide.  I  acknowl- 
edged the  introduction. 

"Now,  I  suppose  we'll  go  back  the  way  we  came? " 
I  suggested  hopefully.  He  seemed  somewhat  aggrieved. 

"Why,  we  haven't  been  through  it  yet,"  he  said. 
As  if  to  avoid  further  argument  he  squeezed  through  the 
narrow  opening.  I  sighed  and  followed.  The  entire 
roof  had  sagged  and  cracked  from  the  weight  of  the 
mountain  above  it  until  it  was  necessary  to  crawl  along 
on  one's  hands  and  knees.  Half  way  through  we  stopped. 
I  was  duly  grateful,  for  I  was  not  built  for  a  caterpillar's 
life.  I  hastily  started  a  conversation  to  prevent  an  im- 
mediate resumption  of  our  journey. 

"What  does  'workin'  '  mean?"  I  asked. 

"The  land  gets  to  sliding,"  he  explained,  "and  if 
it's  bad  enough  caves  in  the  tunnel  and  fills  it  up.  Some- 
times we  can  reinforce  the  timbers,  but  mostly  we  have 
to  cut  in  above  it  with  a  raise  and  strike  the  ore  again 
above  it.  It  catches  the  boys  once  in  a  while,  although 
we  have  far  fewer  accidents  of  that  kind  in  the  Copper 
Queen  than  any  place  else. 


Down   in   Bisbee's  Stomach  111 

"I  remember,"  he  continued,  pointing  with  his  thumb 
in  a  direction  that  meant  nothing  to  me,  "when  we  were 
busy  over  in  a  stope  in  the  other  tunnel  I  could  hear  her 
working  up  above  all  the  time  just  as  if  a  fine  dribble  of 
sand  were  coming  down.  One  of  the  kids  came  up  to  me 
just  about  that  time  and  told  me  my  little  daughter 
had  been  bitten  by  a  dog  and  for  me  to  come  right  home. 
I  told  the  men  to  look  out  for  the  slide  and  not  to  remain 
there  if  it  became  any  worse.  I  reported  it  to  the  super- 
intendent on  my  way  out.  When  I  came  back  an  hour 
later  the  whole  tunnel  was  down  and  the  men  had  just 
gotten  out  a  few  seconds  before. 

"This  place  here,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "will  go 
down  some  time.  When  we  work  a  tunnel  completely 
out  we  just  let  'em  go  and  don't  bother  about  fixing  them 
up  any  more." 

"How  long  do  you  think  this  one  will  last?"  I  in- 
quired anxiously. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "They  patch 
it  up  a  little  once  in  a  while,  but  if  it  weren't  for  that  I 
wouldn't  give  it  three  weeks." 

I  strained  back  my  neck  and  looked  with  renewed 
interest  at  the  damp,  broken  beams  above  me.  Just  at 
that  moment  the  ground  was  shaken  by  a  boom.  A  few 
seconds  later  there  followed  a  dull  roar,  as  if  tons  of  earth 
were  collapsing.  My  companion  seemed  to  be  unmoved. 
I  resolved  with  an  effort  to  take  death  as  calmly  as  he. 

After  an  interval  long  enough  to  convince  him  that 
I  was  not  in  the  least  alarmed  I  asked  in  a  shakily  casual 
voice,  "What  were  those  noises?  " 

"The  first  was  a  blast  over  in  I,"  he  informed.  "The 
other  was  an  ore  car  being  dumped  into  the  chute.  It's 


112  'Along  the  Rio   Grande 

carried  down  to  the  four  hundred  level  and  then  shot 
underground  over  to  the  Sacramento  shaft,  where  all  of 
the  ore  from  these  different  places  is  taken  out." 

We  left  Rat  Hole.  I  was  not  sorry.  Flashing  his 
light  as  we  went  on  the  different  kinds  of  ore  we  journeyed 
to  the  Holbrook  Shaft.  We  came  to  some  tracks. 

"I  want  you  to  see  some  of  the  ore  cars  go  by,"  he 
said  excitedly.  "We've  got  some  slick  ones."  We  waited 
for  several  minutes. 

"They  never  seem  to  come  when  I  have  any  visitors 
down  here,"  he  said  morosely  at  last.  "They  only  did 
once — when  I  had  one  of  the  men  from  the  Twenty- 
second  Infantry  down,"  he  amended.  His  eyes  lit  up,  as 
nearly  as  I  could  judge  by  the  rays  of  my  lantern,  with 
reminiscent  satisfaction. 

"They  came  by  so  fast,"  he  said,  "that  his  eyes 
stuck  out  like  a  frog's  when  he  saw  them." 

Poor  Harry  Anderson  never  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  mine  perform  such  acrobatics,  however,  for  after 
waiting  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  we  gave  up  in  despair  and 
jumped  into  the  elevator  at  the  Holbrook  Shaft.  We  were 
hoisted  once  more  to  the  cool  night  air  above. 

As  I  returned  back  to  the  hotel  I  was  not  able  to  de- 
termine just  what  kind  of  a  report  should  be  made  to  the 
Bisbee  citizens.  I  think,  however,  that  ten  or  fifteen  years 
from  now  the  Copper  Queen  and  the  C.  &  A.  will  still 
be  found  in  operation.  It  will  not  be  immediately  neces- 
sary for  the  town  to  begin  packing. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

«, 

Nogales,  on  Both  Sides  of  the  Line. 

In  Spanish,  Nogales  means  "walnut  trees."  By  the 
aid  of  a  costly  fifty-cent  dictionary  I  learned  this  before 
1  went  there.  I  had  seen  so  many  Statefuls  of  cactus  and 
mesquite,  with  mountains  to  hold  them  down,  that  I  felt 
I  should  like  to  revel  in  the  cool  shade  of  the  walnut  trees 
while  gentle  zephyrs  wafted  through  my  auburn  locks. 

But  when  I  arrived  there  I  found  no  walnuts  at  all. 
There  may  be  a  few,  but  they  are  surely  kept  in  safes. 
There  are  trees — some — but  they  are  of  other  varieties. 
There  is  shade — at  intervals.  I  saw  a  young  Mexican, 
with  a  fortune  in  ice  tied  about  the  middle  with  a  piece 
of  string,  trying  to  negotiate  the  distance  between  one 
shady  spot  and  another. 

A  second  evil-natured  child  of  toil  engaged  him  in 
an  interesting  conversation.  A  few  seconds  later  a  howl 
of  dismay  told  me  the  first  had  just  become  aware  that 
his  chilly  possession  had  miraculously  changed  to  a  pool 
of  water. 

I  proceeded  to  the  "best"  (so-called  only  because 
the  others  are  worse)  hotel.  A  well-wisher  told  me  he 
had  heard  a  guest  had  been  bitten  by  a  tarantula  two  days 
before,  when  he  tried  to  wash  his  hands. 

"Is  there  any  other  place? "  I  asked. 

"You'll  be  lucky  if  you  can  get  a  cot  to  sleep  on," 
he  replied  heartlessly. 

Ill 


114  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

I  waited  for  three  hours  until  some  one  reached 
the  limit  of  human  endurance  and  vacated  his  room.  I 
got  it. 

I  was  soon  looking  enthusiastically  for  the  tarantula. 
I  wished  to  ask  it  if  it  wouldn't  please,  like  a  nice,  good 
little  tarantula,  run  downstairs  and  bite  the  boy  in  the 
lobby,  who  seemed  to  think  his  popularity  was  determined 
by  the  volume  of  noise  he  could  make  and  the  amount  of 
pain  he  could  inflict  on  the  patient  bootblack.  After  that 
I  desired  the  tarantula  to  nip  mommer,  whose  views 
seemed  to  be  similar  to  her  son's.  But  I  could  only  find 
flies  and  bright,  intelligent  looking  bugs  with  shiny  eyes 
(called  June  bugs  here,  though  they  aren't).  There  were 
also  some  small  persevering  insects  which  I  was  not  able 
to  identify.  None  of  them  were  deadly. 

I  decided  I  wouldn't  like  Nogales,  but,  as  usual,  I 
soon  discovered  I  was  mistaken. 

The  next  day  things  began  to  appear  in  a  different 
light. 

If  the  troops  had  arrived  there  a  few  days  later  I 
would  probably  have  found  no  city  to  write  about.  It 
would  have  been  burned  in  its  infancy,  like  the  ill-fated 
town  of  Columbus,  N.  M.  Nogales  is  situated  in  a  valley. 
All  about  it  are  beautiful  rolling  hills  of  green,  which  are 
excellent  for  artistic  purposes,  but  just  as  valuable  for 
military  ones.  A  month  before  they  were  lined  with  Mexi- 
can artillery  and  machine  guns.  Feeling  at  that  time  was 
intense,  and  they  would  doubtless  have  been  used  for  a 
purpose  had  not  the  arrival  of  1 1,000  troops  of  the  Cali- 
fornia, Connecticut  and  Idaho  militia  and  three  regiments 
of  regulars  thrown  the  fear  of  God  into  the  worthy  gentle- 
men across  the  line. 


No  gales  115 

The  atmosphere  was  once  more  apparently  peace- 
ful, although  the  occasional  sniping,  such  as  that  which 
occurred  early  in  August,  when  Claude  Howard,  one  of 
the  American  sentries,  was  shot  in  the  leg,  indicated  the 
good  will  was  only  on  the  surface.  The  steady  flow  of 
Mexicans — old  men  and  women,  boys  and  pretty  seno- 
ritas  (Nogales  is  one  of  the  few  places  that  one  finds  their 
far-famed  beauty) — continued  from  one  side  to  the  other. 

The  narrow  main  street  and  its  shops  that  try  to  lure 
customers  within,  with  signs  both  Spanish  and  English, 
were  crowded  with  soldiers  in  vain  search  for  excitement, 
sombreroed  Americans  and  a  host  of  Mexicans — the  latter 
outnumber  all  the  others.  There  are  5,000  people  in 
Nogales,  Ariz.,  and  about  3,000  in  Nogales,  Sonora. 
Slightly  more  than  1,500  of  these  are  Americans.  The 
drug  stores  of  Nogales  seemed  to  benefit  the  most  from 
the  military  flood  which  poured  into  the  town. 

At  all  the  cigar  stands,  in  stores  of  any  variety,  were 
beautiful  maidens  of  Spanish  descent,  ready  and  willing 
to  shake  dice  with  all  comers  for  anything  from  a  box  of 
cigarettes  to  a  house  and  lot.  They  would  not  play  for 
money,  however,  as  that  would  be  gambling  and  naughty. 
It  made  one  feel  quite  guilty  on  winning  to  have  one  of 
them  look  with  her  large  luminous  brown  eyes  and  say, 
"Oh,  senor,"  with  a  sad  little  sigh.  The  usually  heartless 
soldier  was  so  moved  that  he  played  again  and  lost — which 
was  good  for  the  house  and  promoted  friendly  feeling. 

The  most  interesting  part  of  the  city,  however,  is 
the  border  line.  There  is  a  break  in  the  busy  Main  street 
which  had  been  cleared  for  the  space  of  about  a  hundred 
yards  with  the  exception  of  two  sentry  boxes  and  an  in- 
ternational post.  On  the  Mexican  side  to  the  left  were  a 


116  Along  the  Rio   Grande 

saloon,  a  couple  of  restaurants  and  a  row  of  adobe  houses 
covered  with  plaster  and  painted  with  faded  colors.  They 
ran  up  to  the  foot  of  a  hill  on  which  were  several  shacks. 
On  the  right  are  the  red  Bank  of  Sonora  and  the  railroad 
tracks.  Two  or  three  Carranza  soldiers  were  usually  in  sight 
serving  the  same  purpose  as  the  Americans  on  their  side. 

Before  the  Government  appropriated  the  space  the 
line  was  the  scene  of  much  more  excitement  than  it  is 
now.  The  open  space  was  filled  with  a  line  of  saloons 
and  gambling  places,  partly  on  American  and  partly  on 
Mexican  soil.  I  was  told  of  an  incident  that  took  place 
in  the  most  active  of  them.  A  cowpuncher  wanted  by 
Mexican  authorities  for  some  breach  of  etiquette  took 
refuge  in  the  American  side  of  the  saloon.  The  police, 
unable  to  follow  him  across  the  boundary,  waited  for  him 
at  the  only  exit,  which  opened  on  Sonora.  They  were 
confident  their  prey  would  soon  be  in  their  hands.  Cer- 
tain friends  of  the  harassed  man  who  heard  of  his  trouble 
came  to  his  rescue,  however,  by  sawing  out  the  side  of 
the  building  facing  Arizona  and  allowing  him  to  step  forth 
to  safety. 

There  was  more  or  less  smuggling  of  a  petty  nature 
attempted,  which  kept  the  two  officials  on  duty  ex- 
tremely busy. 

'They  go  over  a  few  times  without  being  exam- 
ined," said  one  of  the  inspectors,  "and  it  seems  so  blamed 
easy  for  them  to  get  something  across  that  the  next  trip 
they  will  try  to  take  a  load  of  'hop'  over  that  will  give 
them  a  profit  of  several  hundred  per  cent.  But  when  we 
see  a  man  who  we  believe  hasn't  any  legitimate  business 
passing  too  frequently,  we  stop  and  search  him  just  about 
the  time  he  has  loaded  himself  up." 


IV  o  gales  117 

Off  to  the  left  is  a  hill  three  or  four  hundred  feet 
high.  On  its  top  I  saw  a  peon  wandering  aimlessly  about. 

"What's  he  doing  up  there?"  I  asked.  I  thrilled 
with  the  secret  belief  that  he  was  a  soldier  getting  the  lay 
of  the  American  land. 

"He's  a  poor  greaser,"  he  replied,  "that  is  trying  to 
do  something  to  keep  his  mind  off  how  damn  hungry  he 
is."  It  was  one  of  the  products  of  the  Carranza  regime 
and  the  constant  revolutions  from  which  Mexico  has  been 
suffering  the  past  years. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  I  crossed  the  line  with  another 
newspaper  man  to  visit  Nogales,  Sonora. 

Fifty  ragged,  pinched-faced  Mexican  men  and 
women  were  gathered  about  the  railroad  station.  They 
were  literally  homeless  and  sleep  there  all  night.  A  wav- 
ering blue  column  of  smoke  was  ascending  from  a  small 
fire  on  which  an  aged  senora  was  making  a  weary  attempt 
to  cook  a  filthy  tortilla. 

We  passed  up  the  street.  In  a  cantina,  no  longer 
prosperous,  for  the  State  of  Sonora  is  "dry,"  several 
Yaquis  were  playing  a  noisy  game  of  pool.  Next  door, 
through  a  spotted  vista  of  flies,  four  men,  more  wealthy 
than  their  neighbors,  were  reclining  luxuriously  while 
they  received  a  five  dollar  haircut. 

The  fat  proprietress  of  a  curio  shop  stood  in  the 
entrance  vainly  looking  for  customers.  From  the  win- 
dows of  the  little,  low  buildings  shrunken  mothers  leaned 
out  to  watch  their  tattered  offspring  hopping  about  in  the 
street. 

Their  park,  with  its  green  trees,  is  quite  pretty,  but 
in  strange  contrast  to  the  hundreds  of  old  men  and  loafers 
seated  on  the  benches. 


118  r Along   the  Rio   Grande 

Further  on  we  stopped  to  enter  a  book  store.  Two 
impertinent  young  Mexicans  waited  on  us.  They  had 
reached  the  mature  age  of  14  years,  when  all  Mexican 
boys  don  long  trousers  and  grow  mustaches.  The  burden 
on  their  lips,  combined  with  their  security  in  being  on 
the  right  side  of  the  line,  weighed  on  their  minds  heavily. 
While  I  was  looking  over  some  weird  "Libros  por  Mexi- 
canos  Ninos,"  which  correspond  to  our  'Tip  Top  Week- 
lies," and  are  decorated  with  vivid  pictures  of  Spanish 
heroes  rescuing  beautiful  senoritas,  the  two  youths — in 
Spanish — made  remarks  scarcely  complimentary  to  their 
customers.  The  ability  of  one  to  scribble  "Americanos" 
and  "gringoes"  on  a  piece  of  paper  seemed  to  cause  much 
amusement.  I  bought  the  books  and  we  left. 

Further  up  in  the  city  the  attitude  of  the  people 
became  distinctly  more  hostile.  Smiles  which  we  occa- 
sionally saw  nearer  the  United  States  disappeared;  scowls 
took  their  place.  Some  stopped  and  stared  at  us.  An 
inquiry  as  to  the  location  of  the  post  office,  which,  al- 
though put  in  bad  Spanish,  must  have  been  perfectly  in- 
telligible to  them,  evoked  nothing  more  than  a  sulky 
shake  of  the  head,  until  at  last  we  ceased  to  ask  it. 

At  the  jail,  a  large  brownstone  building  with  barred 
windows,  quite  imposing  in  its  lowly  surroundings,  we 
stopped  to  inquire  whether  we  might  return  the  following 
day  to  take  a  photograph  of  it.  The  question  seemed  to 
cause  a  sort  of  amazed  horror  to  spread  over  the  face  of 
the  dusky  guard.  In  order  that  there  might  be  no  mis- 
understanding,'he  burst  into  a  frenzy  of  "Noes."  As  we 
walked  away  I  could  see  that  he  was  having  an  excellent 
time  jabbering  intermittently  to  himself  and  to  a  com- 
panion who  had  come  out -from  the  court  yard  to  join 


Some  stopped  and  stared  at  -us. 


Nogales  119 

him-  There  seemed  to  have  been  something  incredible 
about  the  request- 

Twilight  was  falling.  The  sun  had  disappeared  in 
a  rose-tinted  smother  of  clouds.  Throughout  ^the  streets, 
glorifying  even  the  hovels  of  dirt  along  them,  spread  a 
marvelous  glow  that  seemed  to  come  from  everywhere 
yet  nowhere  in  particular. 

We  strolled  slowly  back  to  town.  Through  the 
open  door  of  a  pale  green  shack  we  saw  a  slender,  yellow- 
faced  boy  arise  from  a  rickety  bed  covered  with  a  patch- 
work quilt.  He  reached  for  a  guitar  hanging  on  the 
wall. 

Presently  we  heard  his  high,  wavering  voice  and 
the  plaintive,  twanging  notes  of  his  instrument.  He  was 
playing  a  song  which  he  had  doubtless  picked  up  on  the 
other  side — one  to  which  he  had  fitted  soft  Spanish  words 
of  his  own.  It  was  one  of  which  I  thought  I  had  begun 
to  tire — a  belief  I  found  to  be  mistaken.  It  was  "Home, 
Sweet  Home."  As  we  went  on  the  notes  became  fainter 
and  fainter.  First  the  lower  ones  became  indistinguish- 
able and  then  the  higher  were  carried  to  us  only  at  in- 
tervals. We  stepped  over  the  American  line  and  listened. 
It  had  either  stopped  or  was  too  far  away.  We  could 
hear  "Home,  Sweet  Home"  no  longer. 

When  I  first  went  to  Nogales  I  was  alarmed  by  the 
action  of  certain  of  the  militia  I  found  parading  the  street. 
Two  of  them  paused  in  their  saunterings  to  level  an  accus- 
ing finger  at  a  hard  working  Mexican  plodding  home  to 
meet  his  anxious  wife  and  family  awaiting  him  at  home 
his  return  from  work.  "Zip  Five,"  cried  the  taller  soldier. 
The  workman  stared  at  them  in  vague  surprise  and  con- 
tinued on  his  way.  I  walked  toward  them.  Perhaps  they 


120  Along   the    Rio    Grande 

had  originated  some  new  method  for  persecuting  their 
darker  colored  brethren.  But  they  had  not  gone  much 
farther  before  one  pointed  excitedly  at  an  American  with 
a  full  beard  and  cried  "Zip  30."  I  knew  that  my  first 
premise  was  wrong.  If  a  persecution  was  under  way  it 
was  not  confined  to  a  single  race. 

The  private  on  the  left  gazed  eagerly  into  my  face 
as  I  approached.  He  looked  greatly  disappointed.  I 
realized  that  the  matter  was  becoming  personal.  I  felt 
I  had  a  right  to  make  some  inquiries. 

"Why  do  I  cause  you  such  grief? "  I  asked. 

"Because  you  don't  wear  any  whiskers,"  was  his 
somewhat  amazing  response. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  displeased  you,"  I  said,  "but  I 
have  always  been  this  way." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that,"  he  replied  kindly,  but  as  one 
who  was  losing  interest  in  the  conversation.  "We  were 
playing  Zip." 

Zip,  I  learned,  is  a  game.  Any  number  of  soldiers 
from  two  to  a  company  can  participate  in  it,  but  two 
makes  a  sportier  proposition,  according  to  my  informant. 

One  proceeds  along  the  street  in  the  usual  manner. 
If  it  is  your  turn  for  "zipping"  you  look  carefully  at  the 
hirsute  adornment  on  the  face  of  the  nearest  pedestrian 
and  say  "Zip"  with  the  appropriate  number  appended 
that  the  whiskers  call  for.  You  are  quite  a  simple  person 
if  you  know  not  that  in  the  scale  of  things  a  mustache 
counts  five,  whiskers  ten,  a  beard  twenty,  a  beard  resting 
comfortably  on  the  wearer's  chest  thirty,  "burnsides"  or 
"mudguards,"  whichever  you  wish  to  call  them,  forty, 
while  a  beard  extending  to  the  waist  entitles  one  to  the 
credit  of  eighty.  He  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  run 


No  gales  121 

across  a  man  wearing  a  fringe  extending  under  his  chin 
from  ear  to  ear,  a  la  Horace  Greeley,  gets  one  hundred. 
If  he  is  right  on  the  job  and  alive  to  his  opportunities  he 
can  quickly  shout  "Keno"  and  win  the  game.  If  he  mis- 
calls the  value  he  is  fined  ten  points.  A  person  is  com- 
pelled to  get  just  100  or  his  labors  must  be  repeated. 

The  game  had  become  quite  popular  with  the  Cali- 
fornia, Idaho  and  Connecticut  troops  stationed  there  and 
it  was  only  late  in  August  that  any  curb  was  placed  upon 
its  growth.  It  was  due  entirely  to  the  carelessness  of 
a  militiaman.  Absorbed  in  the  fact  that  he  needed  only 
five  more  points  to  win,  he  stretched  out  an  excited  hand 
toward  a  senorita  and  cried,  "Zip  five."  Of  course  he 
was  penalized  ten  points  for  miscounting,  but  this  failed 
to  appease  her  escort,  who  was  untutored  in  the  joys  of 
Zip.  Complications  ensued. 

After  that  it  was  deemed  best  by  the  authorities  to 
discourage  the  progress  of  "Zip."  Nogales  mourned,  for 
a  deathblow  had  been  struck  to  what  promised  to  prove 
one  of  its  most  popular  sports. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
A  Trip  Into  Zapata  Land. 

There  are  few,  if  any,  men  along  the  border  who 
have  had  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  things  Mexi- 
can or  more  bona  fide  thrills  to  the  square  inch  in  their 
lives  than  Jack  H.  Noonan.  If  he  had  cut  a  notch  in  the 
handle  of  his  revolver  for  every  man  he  has  killed  the 
butt  would  fall  off,  yet  he  has  killed  them  "square,"  as 
any  one  who  knows  him  will  tell  you.  Except  for  his 
dealings  with  Mexicans,  whom  he  doesn't  regard  in  the 
light  of  humans,  he  has  never  yet  done  a  thing  that  a 
Westerner  would  call  crooked,  although  there  has  been 
many  a  time  when  he  has  evaded  what  he  regards  as  more 
or  less  superfluous  man-made  laws  regarding  smuggling 
arms  to  revolutionists  in  the  days  when  there  was  no 
danger  of  their  being  used  to  take  American  lives. 

He  has  been  employed  in  the  secret  service  of  the 
Mexican  Government;  he  organized  two  revolutions, 
which,  if  successful,  would  have  resulted  in  the  annexation 
of  Lower  California  to  the  United  States.  He  has  fought 
in  numberless  battles.  He  and  four  others  are  the  only 
white  men  who  have  ever  gone  into  the  Zapatista  country 
and  were  able  to  converse  about  it  afterward.  Some- 
where down  there  the  others  are  buried. 

The  chances  for  a  person  weathering  such  experi- 
ences as  he  has  had  are  about  one  in  a  million,  but  Noo- 
nan is  one  of  those  persons  so  constituted  that  he  always 
wriggles  out  of  danger. 

122 


'A  Trip  Into  Zapata  Land  123 

A  friend  of  his  once  told  me:  "I  saw  Noonan  over 
in  Juarez  one  day  when  feeling  against  Americans  was 
very  bitter  take  away  a  gun  from  a  drunken  Mexican  guard 
and  slap  his  face.  Some  soldiers  were  standing  near  by. 
Noonan  told  them  that  he  didn't  intend  to  be  killed  by  any 
'soused  Mexican,'  and  they  did  nothing.  Ordinarily  they 
would  not  have  hesitated  a  minute  in  shooting  him,  but 
his  life  is  charmed.  I  have  implicit  faith  that  Noonan  can 
get  out  of  any  scrap  untouched." 

I  met  Noonan  in  a  yard  in  the  rear  of  one  of  the 
hotels  here.  He  was  sitting  on  a  bench  which  afforded  us 
the  only  refuge  from  the  blistering  sun.  I  joined  him 
just  as  the  little  tow-headed  son  of  the  proprietor  came  up 
with  a  demand:  "Give  me  a  match,  Noony." 

"Noony's"  face  lit  up  with  a  tenderness  surprising  in 
a  "bad"  man  only  until  one  gets  acquainted  with  them 
and  finds  out  what  they  are  really  like.  "Watche  going 
to  do  with  it,  Ben,  burn  up  the  hotel?  "  he  asked,  hurriedly 
searching  out  the  desired  article.  Ben  didn't  tell.  Small 
boys  always  want  matches  and  never  explain  their  pur- 
poses. He  grabbed  it  and  rushed  off  to  unknown  lands. 

"He's  the  greatest  little  kid  in  town,"  said  Noonan, 
and  I  agreed  with  him,  although  I  hardly  constituted  an 
authority. 

Noonan  is  a  natural  story  teller.  It  is  rare  that  one 
who  is  Irish,  and  has  had  such  experiences  as  his,  is  not. 
As  he  told  me  of  them  they  sounded  like  dime  novels,  but 
I  am  convinced  they  have  been  not  in  the  least  exag- 
erated.  One  of  his  faults  is  modesty  and  he  left  out 
.nach  for  fear  of  appearing  conceited. 

He  told  me  of  his  trip  as  a  spy  into  the  country  of 
Zapata,  the  bandit  in  Southern  Mexico  whom  neither  Car- 


124  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

ranza  nor  his  predecessors  have  ever  been  able  to  con- 
quer. 

"For  some  time,"  he  began,  "during  the  Huerta 
regime  it  was  thought  that  ammunition  was  being  sup- 
plied to  Zapata  from  the  Federal  garrison  at  Mexico  City. 
General  Abraham  Gonzales  was  extremely  anxious  to  find 
out  for  his  chief  whether  this  was  the  case  or  not.  He 
called  me  to  him  one  day  up  in  El  Paso  and  put  the  thing 
to  me  straight. 

"  This  is  the  way  the  situation  stands,'  he  said. 
'I've  already  sent  five  men  down  into  Morelos  and  none 
of  them  has  ever  come  back.  Maybe  you  won't  if  you 
go,  but  if  you  want  to  try  it  money  is  no  object.' 

"I  told  him  that  the  'no  object'  part  sounded  pretty 
good  to  me  and  I'd  do  it  for  $1,000. 

"Well,  I  hopscotched  around  El  Paso  for  a  few  days 
before  starting,  trying  to  figure  out  the  best  way  of  going 
about  the  whole  thing,  when  I  ran  across  a  party  of  four 
men,  two  of  them  Germans,  talking  in  a  bar  about  a  trip 
into  Guerro  to  take  moving  pictures.  It  was  a  crazy  thing 
to  attempt,  but,  if  they  wanted  me  to  do  it,  it  was  none 
of  my  business.  I  spoke  to  one  of  them  and  told  him  I 
had  overheard  their  conversation  and  would  like  to  chip 
in  on  the  party  if  they  didn't  have  any  objection.  They 
said,  'Sure,  come  ahead,'  so  the  next  day  we  started. 

"We  took  the  train  down  to  a  town  called  Vista  and 
from  then  on  we  went  the  rest  of  the  way  on  horseback. 
After  we  had  ridden  four  hours  through  a  country  without 
a  soul  in  it  we  came  at  last  to  a  little  hill  about  250  feet 
-high.  Just  as  we  rode  over  the  top  a  bunch  of  three 
hundred  Zapatistas  jumped  up  out  of  the  brush.  They 
told  us  to  throw  up  our  hands.  We  didn't  lose  much  time 


A  Trip  Into  Zapata  Land  125 

about  doing  it.  We  were  arrested  and  taken  to  a  little 
adobe  prison  three  miles  away  and  locked  in  there  for 
the  night  to  await  the  arrival  of  Zapata  himself. 

"The  next  day  we  were  haled  to  the  headquarters 
of  the  chief.  He  was  dressed  up  as  if  he  were  the  main 
exhibit  in  the  circus.  He  would  have  put  the  sportiest  bull 
fighter  I  have  ever  seen  to  shame.  He  wore  a  velvet 
suit,  a  big  hat  about  three  feet  across,  decorated  with  sil- 
ver ornaments  that  must  have  cost  three  hundred  dollars 
if  they  cost  a  centavo.  He  had  a  long,  black,  drooping 
mustache  and  little  beady  eyes  like  a  snake's. 

"I  couldn't  speak  much  Mex  at  that  time  and  he 
didn't  savvy  white  man's  talk,  so  we  had  an  interpreter. 

"I  remember  I  had  four  cigars  in  my  pocket.  I 
fished  one  out  and  offered  it  to  him.  He  looked  at  it 
steady  for  a  long  time.  Then  he  crumbled  it  up  and  threw 
it  on  the  floor. 

"He  turned  to  the  interpreter.  Tell  the  gringo  I 
will  supply  my  own  smokes,'  he  said. 

"After  that  we  tried  to  explain  what  we  were  doing 
v/ith  the  moving  picture  camera.  It  was  a  hard  job,  for 
they  seemed  to  think  that  it  was  some  new  sort  of  ma- 
chine gun.  When  that  was  done  I  figured  our  hash  was 
cooked,  anyway,  so  it  wouldn't  make  things  much  worse 
if  I  offered  the  chief  another  cigar.  So  I  pulled  'em  out, 
stuck  one  in  my  mouth  and  offered  the  other  to  the  old 
toreador.  He  suspected,  I  guess,  that  I  was  trying  to 
poison  him  or  something,  because  he  returned  it  and  told 
me  to  smoke  it  myself.  I  threw  the  one  I  had  away  and 
lit  it.  He  seemed  somewhat  disappointed  when  it  didn't 
kill  me  and  then  informed  us  that  we  would  know  by  sun- 
rise what  was  going  to  be  done  with  us.  We  were  re- 


126  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

turned  to  the  prison.  We  were  pretty  sure  we  knew  what 
sunrise  meant  for  us,  so  all  that  night  we  spent  in  writing 
letters  home,  though  I  don't  know  how  we  thought  they 
were  ever  going  to  get  there. 

''When  we  finished  we  sat  with  our  elbows  on  the 
ledge  of  the  one  window  in  the  cell  and  waited  for  dawn 
to  come.  I  hope  it  never  takes  so  long  again." 

At  this  point  there  was  another  interruption  from 
Ben,  who  seemed  to  regard  "Moony"  as  a  walking  com- 
missary department. 

"Noony,"  he  said,  "  I  want  five  cents."  The  fortune 
was  produced  and  the  boy  again  vanished. 

"The  sun  rose  and  filled  our  prison  with  light,  but 
we  heard  from  no  one  for  two  hours  more.  At  last  the 
door  opened  and  we  were  led  out  by  a  guard.  Once 
more  we  were  taken  before  Zapata.  He  told  us  that  he 
had  decided  to  let  us  go.  Perhaps  the  cigars  had  made  a 
hit — I  didn't  know — but  he  had  never  spared  prisoners 
before.  We  were  told  if  we  ever  returned  to  his  country 
again  we  would  be  shot  without  any  further  investigation 
and  then  the  guard  led  us  out  through  the  courtyard  and 
gave  us  back  our  horses. 

"On  the  way  out  we  passed  by  rows  of  ammunition 
boxes  piled  high  and  1,700  new  rifles  in  khaki  cases. 
There  were  340,000  rounds  of  ammunition  and  all  of 
them  had  the  mark  of  the  Mexico  City  arsenal,  which 
proves  that  Huerta's  suspicions  of  treason  in  his  garrison 
were  correct. 

"I  didn't  tell  my  moving  picture  friends  I  was  a  spy 
in  the  employ  of  the  Mexican  Government  until  we  were 
in  the  train  on  the  way  back.  I  think  when  I  did  they 
regretted  that  Zapata  hadn't  ordered  me  shot. 


A  Trip  Into  Zapata  Land  127 

"A  week  later  I  got  my  money  and  on  the  strength 
of  what  1  had  discovered  Huerta  ordered  the  execution 
of  a  colonel,  two  majors  and  a  captain." 

Ben  once  more  came  to  the  front 

"Noony,"  he  said,  grabbing  him  by  the  hand,  "I 
want  you  to  come  and  see  somethin'  I  got." 

"My  boss  says  I  got  to  go,"  he  smiled.  "When  I 
see  you  again  I'll  tell  you  about  how  we  nearly  won 
Lower  California  for  the  United  States." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

How   Lower   California   Nearly   "Annexed"    the   United 

States. 

When  I  next  talked  with  Jack  Noonan  it  was  near 
the  line  dividing  the  United  States  from  Mexico.  He  is 
now  employed  in  the  law  abiding  occupation  of  customs 
inspector  and  his  square,  determined  chin,  steady  eye  and 
reputation  as  a  person  who  gets  exceedingly  impatient 
and  disposed  to  action  when  trifled  with  made  him  an 
excellent  man  for  the  position.  The  fact  that  he  knows 
from  past  experience  if  there  is  any  way  of  getting  goods 
(particularly  if  it  be  ammunition)  across  the  line  unob- 
served is  merely  an  incidental  recommendation. 

I  saw  him  after  dinner.  There  was  a  parade  of 
pretty  senoritas,  their  less  attractive  families  and  many 
machines  filled  with  Mexicans  of  every  description  passing 
to  and  from  Sonora.  Occasionally  he  would  stop  them, 
look  through  any  suspicious  package  and  allow  them  to 
go  upon  their  business,  which  consisted  as  nearly  as  I 
was  able  to  judge  of  merely  strolling  up  and  down  until 
bedtime  on  the  exceedingly  narrow  main  street  of 
Nogales. 

"How'de? "  he  said  when  I  came  up.  "1  said  yester- 
day I  would  tell  you  about  that  California  stunt,  didn't  I?  " 

I  endeavored  to  convey  the  impression  he  had  and 
that  I  was  awaiting  the  full  details. 

"That  was  the  nearest  I  ever  came  to  being  a  mil- 

128 


Nearly  "Annexed"  the  United  States  129 

lionaire,"  he  said  reminiscently,  as  he  motioned  a  car, 
which  had  stopped  on  the  line,  to  continue.  "If  it  had 
gone  through  the  way  we  planned  Nogales  wouldn't  be 
able  to  hold  all  the  money  we  would  have  cleaned  up. 

"Our  scheme  was  to  take  the  little  town  of  Mexicale, 
which  was  the  capital.  The  other  burgs  would  be  easy, 
once  we  got  possession  of  that,  for  recruits  would  come 
fast  when  we  offered  them  good  wages  and  they  saw 
we  were  victorious.  We  would  oust  Cantu,  the  Governor 
of  Lower  California,  and  put  in  our  own  man,  Henriquez 
Araya.  We  had  obtained  a  paper  about  a  block  long 
from  Carranza  that  recognized  Araya  as  the  official  Gov- 
ernor of  the  State.  An  election  would  be  the  next  thing 
in  order,  the  purpose  of  it  being  to  annex  the  United 
States,  which  would  insure  us  protection  in  there  and 
allow  us  to  develop  the  property  which  we  had  gained 
without  molestation.  It  wouldn't  really  matter  whether 
the  suffering  public  of  Lower  California  wished  to  go 
through  with  this  latter  part  of  the  program  or  not,  for 
a  commission  to  count  the  votes  would  be  appointed  by 
Governor  Araya.  I  was  to  be  on  it  and  I  guess  the  other 
members  would  be  able  to  do  just  as  good  counting  as 
myself. 

"We  were  financed  by  a  man  in  California."  He 
told  me  his  name,  but  I  will  spare  the  gentleman  the  em- 
barrassment of  mentioning  it.  "Just  to  make  sure  we 
would  have  plenty  of  capital,  however,  we  went  to  Villa 
and  asked  him  why  he  had  been  overlooking  a  bet  like 
Lower  California  so  long.  We  offered  to  let  him  in  on 
the  game. 

"Villa  said  it  looked  reasonable  enough  to  him,  and 
gave  us  $15,000  for  his  share. 


1.30  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

"Several  weeks  before  we  planned  to  pull  off  th* 
fracas  I  went  up  to  Calexico,  a  little  town  on  the  border, 
across  from  Mexicale,  to  look  over  the  land  and  outline 
our  plans  of  operation.  At  night  I  would  go  over  to 
Mexicale  and  learn  where  Cantu  had  his  men  stationed 
and  all  that  stuff.  One  day  while  I  was  over  there  I  ran 
across  a  fellow  named  Perrazs,  with  whom  I  had  had 
some  trouble  in  Nogales.  I  had  grown  a  full  beard  and 
was  a  pretty  tough  looking  work  of  art,  so  I  didn't  make 
a  sign.  I  went  back  to  the  other  side,  hoping  he  hadn't 
recognized  me. 

"He  spotted  me,  though,  and  went  running  off  to 
Cantu  with  his  information.  Cantu  knew  what  my  being 
there  meant.  That  night  all  the  lights  in  the  town  were 
ordered  out,  the  bells  were  ringing  and  the  bugles  playing 
— you  never  heard  such  a  racket  in  all  your  life.  The 
people  began  to  pack  up  their  stuff  and  hike  across  the 
border.  There  were  some  American  troops  stationed 
there  and  they  saw  something  was  up,  but  they  didn't 
know  what.  They  figured  the  town  had  gone  crazy,  I 
guess. 

"The  next  night  I  started  across  to  look  the  cortel 
over  again.  I  was  taking  a  big  risk,  but  I  wasn't  quite 
sure  I  had  been  recognized  and  there  were  some  things 
I  wanted  to  find  out.  I  had  just  stepped  over  the  line 
when  I  heard  them  begin  to  scurry  around  in  the  arsenal 
for  their  guns.  I  didn't  wait,  but  just  turned  around  on 
my  heel,  as  if  I  hadn't  ever  intended  to  go  over  at  all, 
and  came  back  again. 

"Two  months  later,  it  was  in  August  a  couple  of 
years  ago,  I  got  word  from  Araya  in  Tucson  that  the 
army  was  ready — sixty-five  of  them.  In  order  to  account 


Nearly  "Annexed"  the  United  States  131 

for  bringing  such  a  big  number  of  men  to  that  place  we 
booked  them  as  'cotton  pickers.' 

"They  were  the  sorriest  looking  bunch  of  bums 
when  they  piled  off  the  train  that  I've  laid  my  eyes  on  in 
a  long  weary  day.  Glass  eyes  and  wooden  legs  were  as 
common  as  fleas  in  a  Mexican.  I  was  kind  of  dubious 
about  our  plan  then,  but  I  thought  I  would  go  through 
with  it  anyway. 

'The  next  night  I  took  them  over  the  line.  They 
didn't  seem  to  be  too  familiar  with  firearms,  so  I  told 
them  to  be  careful  with  the  guns  when  they  were  handed 
out  of  the  cars,  for  they  were  loaded. 

"Well,  what  I  was  afraid  of  happened — one  of  the 
rifles  was  accidentally  discharged  and  Cantu's  men  were 
rushing  around  like  lizards  the  next  minute.  I  ordered 
the  men  into  a  ditch  and  we  waited  for  them.  They 
didn't  appear  until  morning,  and  if  we  had  gone  through 
with  the  attack  then  I  think  we  might  have  gotten  away 
with  it,  for  after  I  had  learned  that  Cantu  was  on  to  our 
plans  I  had  spread  the  report  we  had  600  men,  and  he 
believed  it.  But  Araya  had  an  idea  that  he  could  get 
Cantu  to  give  up  without  a  fight  for  $5,000  and  part  of 
the  profits.  For  two  days  they  argued  and  Cantu  was 
willing,  but  on  the  second  day  his  father-in-law  persuaded 
him  not  to  do  it.  By  that  time  he  had  learned  the  real 
size  of  our  outfit,  so  when  he  led  a  charge  against  us  the 
next  day  I  knew  there  wasn't  much  chance. 

"I  looked  back  to  the  United  States  line  and  saw 
the  troops  lined  up  there  to  arrest  us  if  we  retreated,  so 
I  knew  the  only  thing  we  could  do  was  to  fight. 

"I  told  the  men  not  to  fire  until  I  did.  I  waited 
until  Cantu,  whom  I  spotted  because  there  were  a  couple 


132  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

of  buglers  by  his  side,  had  gotten  as  close  as  I  dared  let 
him  come.  I  drew  a  bead  on  him  and  fired.  I  missed. 
Then  it  started  all  along  the  line.  They  had  two  machine 
guns  dragged  by  mules.  They  wheeled  the  old  animals 
around  and  then  cut  loose.  The  bullets  were  flying  so 
thick  and  fast  that  we  could  hardly  stick  our  heads  over 
the  trenches  without  being  hit.  We  killed  three  and 
wounded  four.  None  of  us  were  touched. 

"After  a  while  Cantu  withdrew  his  men  and  spread 
them  out  fan  shape.  I  saw  we  were  goners.  I  told  the 
men  they  had  better  try  and  get  out  of  it  the  best  way 
they  could.  Araya  and  I  escaped  by  a  miracle.  We 
jumped  into  an  arroya,  knee  deep  in  blue  mud  that  ran 
near  our  ditch  and  crawled  along  on  our  bellies  right 
through  Cantu's  army  without  their  seeing  us.  Once  in 
back  we  went  'way  down  below  and  crossed  over  into 
the  United  States  quite  a  distance  beyond  Calexico. 

"That  night  we  took  refuge  in  a  little  inn  there.  In 
the  morning  the  proprietor  came  to  us  and  said  there  was 
a  big  gang  of  men  outside  that  wanted  to  see  us.  It  was 
our  army,  all  covered  with  dirt  and  mud.  They  were 
after  their  pay.  How  they  had  survived  I  don't  know. 

"  'I  guess  we  had  better  give  it  to  them,'  Araya  said, 
so  we  lined  them  all  up  in  the  rooms  and  paid  them  off 
with  the  money  Villa  had  given  us. 

"After  they  had  left,  the  proprietor  came  to  me  and 
asked  if  I  had  had  anything  to  do  with  the  racket  across 
the  line  the  night  before. 

"  'Of  course  not,'  I  told  him.  'Now  here's  fifty 
dollars.  You  don't  know  anything  about  it.'  His  memory 
proved  bad. 

"The  next  day  nine  of  our  men  were  arrested  for 


Nearly  "Annexed"  the  United  States  133 

passing  counterfeit  money.  Carranza  had  doubled  crossed 
Villa,  Villa  had  double  crossed  Carranza,  v/e  had  planned 
to  double  cross  Villa  and  Carranza  both  by  turning  over 
Lower  California  to  the  United  States  when  we  got  it,  and 
Villa  had  double  crossed  us  by  giving  us  that  $15,000  in 
bogus  money — it  was  a  double  cross  game  all  around. 

"We  had  everything  fixed  right  the  second  time  we 
tried  it,  but  the  Government  found  out  just  fifteen  hours 
too  soon.  We  still  had  Carranza's  authorization  of 
Araya  as  Governor  and  we  had  learned  by  experience; 
our  plans  were  worked  out  down  to  the  smallest  detail. 

"We  intended  to  enter  at  a  little  town  near  Mexicale, 
eighteen  miles  west  of  Yuma.  We  had  five  hundred  men 
working  on  a  ranch,  all  of  whom  were  ready  to  fight  for 
us  when  we  needed  them,  and  they  were  all  handy  men 
with  the  guns. 

"I  was  going  to  bring  them  into  the  town  in  day 
coaches.  They  were  to  lie  on  the  bottom,  so  the  cars 
would  look  like  empties  until  the  guards  came  up  to  in- 
spect them.  Then  we  would  bump  them  off  and  hop- 
scotch over  to  the  cortel,  which  we  would  take.  I  knew 
where  the  commandante  lived  who  had  the  key  so  we 
could  get  all  the  ammunition  there.  Next  I  would  grab 
one  of  the  machine  guns  and  take  it  to  the  top  of  the 
tallest  building,  which  I  had  picked  out,  and  turn  it  loose. 
When  those  natives  heard  it  ripping  away  there  wouldn't 
be  much  left  to  do.  The  biggest  part  of  taking  Lower 
California  is  getting  one  town.  The  rest  is  easy.  I  don't 
see  how  we  could  have  slipped  up  this  trip,  but  just  before 
we  were  ready  to  go  in  I  heard  that  the  Government 
agents  had  found  out  about  it  and  were  after  us  for  breach 
of  neutrality. 


134  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

"I  jumped  on  a  train  and  didn't  stop  until  I  hit  San 
Antonio." 

He  pulled  out  his  watch.    It  was  nearly  9  o'clock. 

"I've  got  to  chase  along  up  the  border  now,"  he 
said,  "and  see  what's  going  on  up  there."  He  sighed  as 
he  left. 

"Araya  and  I  met  several  times  after  that.  We 
always  joked  about  how  nearly  we  added  on  a  big  chunk 
of  land  to  the  United  States,  but  when  I  think  how  near 
we  all  came  to  being  millionaires  it  makes  me  feel  kind 
of  seasick." 


CHAPTER  XX. 
More  of  Jack  Noonan. 

"There  was  a  time,"  said  Jack  Noonan,  quondam, 
filibuster  and  revolutionist,  "when  I  couldn't  sit  down  with 
a  fellow  and  do  nothing  but  talk  like  this.  I  had  to  be 
hopscotchin'  around  in  some  trouble  or  another  all  the 
while."  He  was  perched,  when  he  spoke,  in  what  I  would 
have  called  an  extremely  uncomfortable  position  on  the 
arm  of  a  chair  in  the  lobby  of  the  Montezuma  Hotel. 
His  ever  present  cigar  protruded  upward  at  a  rakish  angle 
from  his  mouth  dangerously  near  his  brown  felt  hat,  which 
was  pulled  down  over  his  eyes. 

"I'm  only  fifty,"  (if  he  had  been  a  woman  I  could 
have  truthfully  told  him  he  only  looked  forty,  although 
I  said  nothing  as  it  was),  "but  I've  led  a  pretty  strenuous 
life  taken  one  way  and  another.  I'm  beginning  to  feel 
it  some." 

I,  too,  was  balanced  on  the  arm  of  a  chair  and  began 
to  feel  decidedly  cramped,  but  I  maintained  a  discreet, 
immobile  silence,  for  I  knew  that  when  Noonan  was 
started  on  his  personal  reminiscences  he  liked  to  ramble 
on  in  his  own  way.  Questions  did  not  bring  the  expected 
results,  nor  did  uneasy  shiftings  about  in  one's  chair. 

"I  guess  the  time  I  came  nearest  to  getting  my 
'come-upents'  was  when  I  smuggled  the  flying  machine 
over  to  Mexico  for  old  Governor  Jose  Maytorena  when 
Madero  was  in  power.  They  had  already  tried  to  get  the 
blame  thing  over,  but  the  authorities  nabbed  it  and  placed 

135 


"136  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

it  under  guard  of  a  marshal  at  Tucson.  Maytorena  sent 
for  me.  He  told  me  there  was  $2,500  and  expenses  for 
me  if  I  smuggled  it  into  Mexico. 

"I  knew  I  could  get  the  marshal  at  Tucson  for  about 
fifty  cents  and  a  couple  of  cigars,  so  I  told  the  Governor 
he  was  on. 

"I  hired  a  machine  and  went  up  there.  I  promised 
the  marshal  that  Madero  would  make  him  a  general  in 
the  army  and  give  him  $300  besides.  He  agreed  to  take 
the  aeroplane  out  with  me. 

"We  hadn't  been  gone  more  than  an  hour  when 
the  troops  were  after  us  in  two  other  autos.  We  traveled 
some,  but  just  when  we  got  to  Nogales,  a  little  ways 
from  the  line,  our  gas  wagon  broke  down.  We  barely 
had  time  to  shove  her  across  before  the  men  chasing  us 
came  up,  a  little  too  late  for  them  to  do  anything  except 
swear  at  us.  I  told  Maytorena  I  had  promised  the  driver 
$250,  and  of  the  deal  I  made  with  the  marshal.  He  fixed 
them  up. 

"A  little  while  later  Maytorena  sent  for  me  to  bring 
some  machine  guns  across  that  had  been  left  in  a  little 
back  alley  in  Nogales,  close  to  the  line. 

"We  worked  all  night  on  them.  At  12  o'clock 
another  shift  of  Yaqui  guards  was  put  on  that  hadn't 
been  told  about  me.  I  came  over  with  one  of  the  guns, 
and  two  of  them  became  quite  enthusiastic  about  the 
prospect  of  shooting  me.  Fortunately,  the  captain,  hear- 
ing the  disturbance,  came  running  up  and  told  them  who 
I  was.  He  thereupon  proceeded  to  beat  them  up,  al- 
though it  was  really  not  their  fault. 

"In  the  morning  one  of  the  American  guards  said  to 
me,  'Noonan,  do  you  know,  I  think  there  was  something 


More  of  Jack  Noonan  137 

going  on  along  the  line  last  night.  I  heard  the  deuce  of 
a  racket  down  there.1 

"I  pulled  my  best  look  of  astonishment  and  told 
him  I  thought  he  must  be  wrong,  but  he  wagged  his  head 
and  replied,  'Don't  tell  me.  I've  been  at  this  game 
too  long  not  to  know  when  there's  something  phoney 
under  way.' 

"Some  time  before  this  I  was  in  El  Paso  with  a 
Captain  Tillwell  of  the  English  army.  We  needed  money 
bad.  I  had  twenty-five  cents  besides  my  clothes,  and 
added  to  what  he  could  muster  up  our  combined  wealth 
was  four  bits. 

"  'Noonan,'  said  Tillwell,  'I  hear  tell  of  a  revolution 
by  a  chap  named  Madero.  What's  the  matter  with  lend- 
ing him  a  helping  hand? ' 

"  'I  don't  find  any  flaw  in  it,'  I  replied.  We  went 
off  to  hunt  up  Gonzales,  who  was  in  the  back  room  of  a 
little  El  Paso  saloon. 

"We  told  him  that  we  would  like  to  join  his  army 
as  officers.  He  asked  us  what  we  knew  about  fighting. 

"  'My  friend  here  has  been  a  captain  in  the  English 
army  for  six  years,1  I  replied  with  a  sufficient  amount  of 
truth.  'I've  been  a  lieutenant  in  the  American  for  three 
years  and  in  the  English  for  four,'  I  added  with  less. 

"'Fine,'  he  responded.  'Come  back  again  at  10 
o'clock  and  we'll  take  you.'  I  explained  to  him  that  we 
needed  something  to  eat  with,  and  he  looked  rather 
surprised,  but  gave  us  some  money. 

"When  we  returned  later  we  were  all  piled  into 
machines  and  taken  to  Guadalupe.  Madero  was  along, 
but  he  didn't  cross  over  with  us.  Neither  the  captain  nor 
myself  had  seen  him  before.  Tillwell  gave  him  the  once 


138  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

over — Madero  was  a  small,  short  fellow — and  whispered 
to  me,  'Hey,  I  don't  think  much  of  this  little  insignificant 
guy.  What  right's  he  got  to  have  a  revolution  all  to 
himself?1 

"He  wasn't  much  to  look  at,  but  during  the  years 
after  that  I  got  to  know  and  like  him  real  well.  He 
took  a  fancy  to  me  for  some  reason  or  other,  and  he  felt 
that  I  was  about  the  only  person  he  could  trust.  Later, 
down  in  Mexico  City,  I  used  to  go  up  to  his  room  by  a 
back  way,  when  he  had  generals  and  things  waiting  out- 
side to  see  him.  He  would  pull  out  a  box  of  cigars  and 
say,  'Now,  let's  talk.' 

"Well,  anyway,  we  crossed  over  the  line  up  at 
Guadalupe  and  made  ready  to  move  on  Juarez.  There 
was  some  excitement  caused  by  a  duck  hunter  on  the 
Rio  Grande  whose  gunshots  we  took  to  be  those  of  the 
Federalists.  We  found  out  what  it  was  after  a  while 
and  proceeded  on  our  way. 

"Soon  up  in  the  hills  we  saw  an  army.  Again  we 
didn't  know  who  it  might  be,  and  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  excitement  among  our  men.  It  was  Villa,  but  each 
of  us  thought  the  other  an  enemy  until  after  about  an 
hour  of  skirmishing  we  managed  to  get  together.  We 
proceeded  in  a  bunch  to  Juarez  and  the  battle  began. 

"After  we  had  been  firing  for  about  half  an  hour 
a  man  came. out  on  a  snowy  horse  carrying  a  white  flag, 
with  instructions  from  Madero  to  tell  us  to  cease  fighting. 
Madero  had  some  crazy  notion  of  getting  the  town  to 
surrender  without  bloodshed,  but  there  were  about  forty- 
five  Americans  in  our  crowd  and  none  of  us  intended  to 
stop  them.  Next  to  me  was  a  crack  shot.  When  he 
saw  the  messenger  he  raised  up  and  shouted  to  me  that  he 


More  of  Jack  Noonan  139 

would  shoot  the  flag  out  of  the  man's  hand.  He  fired 
and  missed.  He  didn't  kill  him,  as  has  been  sometimes 
said,  but  his  bullet  whistled  so  close  to  the  flag  bearer's 
head  that  he  dropped  off  his  horse  and  returned  to  Madero 
with  the  report  that  nothing  could  be  done  with  the 
Americanos — they  were  bent  on  going  into  the  city. 

"After  a  while  we  entered  the  city.  Gonzales  came 
up  with  another  command  from  Madero  that  if  we  didn't 
obey  he  would  have  us  all  executed.  We  told  Gonzales  to 
go  back  and  inform  Madero  if  he  didn't  behave  himself  we 
wouldn't  let  him  into  our  city  at  all  after  we  captured  it. 
The  general  said  he  would  make  an  attempt  to  patch 
things  up  with  his  commander.  He  succeeded,  but  we 
really  didn't  care  whether  Madero  liked  what  we  were 
doing  or  not. 

"We  worked  our  way  into  a  trench  about  five  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  jail.  Those  guarding  it  were  so 
astounded  at  our  foolhardiness  when  they  saw  us  that 
they  believed  at  first  we  had  come  to  surrender.  They 
ran  up  a  little  white  flag  and  soon  a  Mexican  came  out 
to  find  out  whether  we  intended  to  keep  on  fighting. 
We  told  him  we  most  certainly  did.  He  returned,  and 
they  opened  up  on  us  with  the  machine  guns. 

"While  we  were  besieging  thej  il  I  observed  that 
there  was  a  lad  about  six  feet  fou-  wearing  heavy  glasses, 
making  apparently  suicidal  trips  uom  -he  jail  to^a  well 
and  back  again  with  water.  He  ^thost  havt  done  it  at 
least  sixty  times.  He  looked  like  an  American,  so  we 
tried  to  keep  our  fire  away  from  him,  yet  it  was  a  miracle 
that  he  survived. 

"On  the  roof  I  saw  a  Mexican,  standing  up  near 
one  corner,  slowly  and  deliberately  raising  his  rifle  and 


140  Along  th*  Rio  Grande 

killing  a  man  with  every  shot.  I  tried  three  times  to 
get  him,  but  the  wind  or  something  deflected  my  bullet 
and  I  missed.  Then  Bill  Anderson,  next  to  me,  said: 
'Watch  me  get  him.'  He  fired  once  with  no  effect.  It 
was  a  long  distance,  but  he  was  rather  peeved.  'I'm 
going  to  hit  him  right  between  the  eyes  this  trip,'  he  said, 
and  took  another  crack  at  him.  The  Mexican  pitched 
forward  off  the  top  of  the  roof  to  the  ground  below. 
When  I  looked  at  him  later  there  was  a  bullet  hole  right 
where  Anderson  had  said. 

"Pretty  soon  they  ran  out  a  white  flag  as  big  as 
a  house. 

"  'Well,'  I  said,  turning  to  Anderson,  'it  looks  like 
the  real  thing  this  time.' 

"We  went  in  and  the  men  were  all  standing  there 
waiting  for  us  with  their  chests  bared  expecting  to  be 
executed  according  to  the  usual  Mexican  fashion.  We 
took  them  prisoners  instead  and  then  went  to  the  cells 
to  turn  the  others  loose. 

"When  I  came  up  to  the  jail  a  man  shouted  through 
the  bars:  'For  God's  sake  don't  fire  in  here.  I'm  an 
American.'  He  was  the  son  of  a  Pittsburg  multi-million- 
aire and  had  been  arrested  the  day  before  for  taking- 
pictures  in  Juarez.  It  had  been  this  fellow  that  had  been 
rushing  the  water.  They  had  given  him  the  choice,  he 
said,  of  either  being  shot  by  them  or  run  the  risk  of 
being  killed  outside  while  he  was  carrying  the  buckets 
from  the  well,  about  fifty  yards  from  the  prison.  He 
didn't  think  there  was  a  chance  in  a  million  of  his  not 
being  punctured  if  he  did  the  latter,  but  there  was  no 
doubt  at  all  in  his  mind  as  to  his  fate  if  he  refused,  so 
he  had  taken  his  choice  of  the  two  evils.  I  guess  he  has 


More  of  Jack  Noonan  141 

told  his  experiences  back  in  Pittsburg  a  million  times  since, 
if  he  has  told  them  once. 

"We  couldn't  find  the  key  to  the  prison,  so  we  dyna- 
mited the  door  open  and  released  all  that  were  inside. 

'That  about  ended  it  all,  but  Juarez  was  certainly 
a  wonderful  looking  sight  when  we  got  through  with  it. 
All  the  windows  of  the  houses  were  broken.  The  dwell- 
ings themselves  were  looted.  Bells  were  ringing  and 
dead  horses  lying  everywhere  in  the  streets. 

"That  ended  the  fight.  I  didn't  have  much  to  do 
afterward  until  Huerta  hired  me  to  blow  up  the  railroad 
tracks  in  back  of  Juarez  in  order  that  he  might  cut  off 
Orosco  and  capture  him.  His  agent  promised  me  $3,000 
and  $6.50  per  for  the  thirty  days  we  figured  it  would 
take  us.  I  took  Dan  Mahoney  and  a  couple  of  other 
men  along  with  me  and  we  each  carried  twenty-five 
pounds  of  dynamite  on  our  backs.  We  knew  the  hills 
better  than  we  did  our  own  grandmothers,  and  we  had  the 
best  of  horses.  Whenever  Orosco 's  men  attacked  us  we 
took  to  the  hills  and  didn't  have  much  trouble  in  getting 
away  from  them,  although  the  job  wasn't  exactly  as 
peaceful  as  a  prayer  meeting. 

"When  we  returned  we  met  Huerta's  agent  in  a 
room  in  El  Paso.  We  had  done  a  mighty  thorough  job, 
but  it  had  taken  us  only  twenty-four  days.  The  agent 
wanted  to  double-cross  us  by  saying  our  contract  had 
called  for  a  full  month's  work,  and  he  wouldn't  pay  us. 
My  men  were  wild  and  wanted  to  kill  him  right  then  and 
there,  but  Dan  Mahoney,  who  was  calmer  than  the  rest, 
persuaded  them  not  to.  Finally  we  did  receive  a  little 
from  him.  I  was  handed  $250  to  get  out  of  El  Paso  to 
Nogales,  but  it  was  a  long  ways  from  being  $3,000. 


142  'Along  the  Rio  Grand* 

"After  we  had  gone  out  into  the  street  the  boys 
kept  stopping  to  talk  with  every  one  they  met,  and  I 
got  impatient  and  went  on  ahead.  I  figured  we'd  better 
hike  out  of  town  as  soon  as  we  could.  I  got  about  a 
block  away  when  I  looked  back  and  saw  that  the  whole 
bunch  had  been  pinched  by  Government  agents  right 
after  I  had  left  them." 

He  stopped  and  puffed  a  moment  on  his  cigar.  I 
cautiously  slid  off  the  arm  of  the  chair  into  a  less  un- 
comfortable position. 

"I  never  told  you  about  the  time  I  got  pinched  across 
the  line  in  Nogales,  Sonora,  did  I?"  he  asked  after  a 
moment. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "Governor  Maytorena  got  to 
thinking  it  over  and  decided  that  I  knew  too  much  about 
his  transactions.  I  was  the  only  person  that  had  any 
proofs  in  connection  with  all  the  smuggling  and  other 
shady  transactions  he  had  been  conducting  and  he  decided 
I  would  be  better  out  of  the  way.  One  day  when  I  was 
in  Nogales,  Sonora,  he  slapped  me  in  jail. 

"That  night  the  jailer  and  two  Yaqui  guards  came 
to  tell  me  that  I  was  to  be  shot  at  sunrise.  I  knew 
the  jailer  well,  and  I  didn't  think  he  would  pull  off  a 
stunt  like  that,  but  at  12  o'clock  back  they  came.  On 
the  floor  outside  they  dropped  the  pick  and  shovel  with 
which  I  was  to  dig  my  own  grave.  It  looked  bad  for  me 
then,  for  not  a  word  of  explanation  did  I  receive.  About 
3  o'clock,  though,  the  jailer  and  the  guards  returned  and 
I  was  taken  before  Maytorena.  He  was  full  of  apologies 
and  told  me  the  whole  thing  was  a  mistake.  The  next 
morning  I  found  out  that  my  friend  the  jailer  had  sent 


More  of  lack  Noonan  143 

word  to  Madero  in  some  way  and  the  President  had  wired 
that  he  wouldn't  hear  of  my  execution.  The  jailer  had 
been  able  to  say  nothing  to  me  because  of  the  Yaqui 
guards. 

"I  knew  Maytorena  was  lying  to  me  when  he  said 
it  was  an  error,  but  he  was  so  smooth  about  it  that  I 
shook  hands  with  the  slob  and  left  for  my  home.  I  was 
a  sad  looking  object,  and  I  slipped  into  my  place  without 
seeing  any  one. 

"The  Shriners,  of  which  I  am  a  member,  heard  of 
my  arrest  and  organized  a  search  party.  They  went  to 
Maytorena  and  demanded  my  release,  but  he  told  them 
1  had  already  gone.  They  thought  it  was  a  stall,  however, 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  night  they  were  looking  for  me  in 
the  jail,  the  graves  and  every  other  conceivable  place. 
They  found  me  in  the  morning  in  my  bed." 

Mr.  Noonan  looked  at  his  watch  and  with  an  agility 
that  belied  the  years  to  which  he  confessed  jumped  off 
of  his  chair. 

"Holy  Mackerel!"  he  exclaimed.  "I've  got  to  be 
hopscotching  back  to  the  line," 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
The  Man  Who  Knew  Mexico  Well. 

In  the  back  of  the  Hotel  Montezuma,  in  Nogales, 
Arizona,  was  a  courtyard.  It  was  not  a  thing  of  beauty. 
On  two  sides  any  breeze  was  effectually  shut  off  by  the 
hotel  itself.  A  little  further  away  on  the  left  workmen 
made  a  merry  noise  on  a  new  roof  being  erected  over 
an  "open  air"  motion  picture  theatre.  A  few  hundred 
yards  in  back  of  a  high  fence  ahead  loomed  a  hill,  along 
the  bottom  of  which  were  layers  of  Mexican  huts.  But 
there  was  shade  there  supplied  by  a  cottonwood  tree, 
which  is  something,  and  a  bench  whereon  one  could  re- 
cline during  "the  deadly  heat  of  the  midday  sun,"  about 
which  the  militia  have  been  writing  home  to  their  families, 
which  was  something  more,  so  ever  and  anon  during  my 
sojourn  in  the  border  city  I  hied  me  there  for  a  rest. 

Early  one  afternoon  when  my  siesta  was  well  under 
way  I  was  dimly  conscious  of  being  poked  on  the  shoulder. 
I  had  a  sleepy,  though  not  very  logical  idea  that  it  was 
the  goat  which  I  had  seen  wandering  around  the  premises, 
so  I  paid  no  attention.  The  boring  continued.  I  opened 
one  eye  slowly.  On  the  border  it  takes  only  eight  days 
to  reach  the  point  when  everything  is  done  slowly.  1 
saw  a  hand  as  big  as  a  ham  with  a  forefinger  outstretched, 
ready  to  begin  another  nudge.  I  opened  the  other  eye 
to  see  if  it  were  really  correct  that  a  hand  could  be  so 
large,  and  then  looked  up  to  find  a  person  at  least  six 

144 


Man  Who  Knew  Mexico  Well  145 

feet  four  towering  above  me.  He  had  on  a  fawn  colored 
sombrero,  but  it  was  the  only  thing  about  him  resembling 
a  fawn.  He  resembled  a  good  deal  the  late  John  Bunny. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  wake  you  up,"  he  said,  "but  I 
heard  you  were  going  away."  If  he  really  had  intended 
to  arouse  me  I  suppose  he  would  have  picked  me  and  the 
bench  up  bodily  and  dropped  us  until  he  had  had  the 
desired  effect. 

"Never  mind,"  I  said.     "I  am  awake  now." 

"My  name,"  he  added,  giving  his  suspender  a  snap 
that  sounded  like  the  beginning  of  a  twenty-one  gun  sa- 
lute, "is  H.  E.  Stewart.  The  'H.'  stands  for  Henry." 

"Father's  and  mother's  names  and  dates  of  their 
births? "  I  was  inclined  to  ask,  for  I  wished  to  resume  my 
slumbers,  but  as  he  apparently  weighed  three  hundred 
pounds  without  his  shoes  on  I  changed  it  to  "Glad  to 
meet  you." 

"You're  from  New  York,"  he  said,  "and  that's  where 
all  the  money  is,  so  I  wants  to  ask  you  about  this."  He 
fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  drew  forth  three  slips  of 
paper  somewhat  the  worse  from  sweat  and  dirt,  upon 
which  there  were  lead  pencil  scrawls. 

"Wanted,"  read  the  first,  "To  find  sumone  who 
wants  to  put  money  in  mexican  mines  i  will  do  it  for  him. 
i  know  mexico  well." 

I  turned  hastily  to  the  next.  "Wanted  sumone  to 
invest  capital  in  mexican  mines  i  know  mexico  well." 

On  the  third  he  had  evidently  spent  more  effort. 
"Wanted,"  it  said,  "Sumone  who  wants  to  invest  money 
in  mexican  mines  i  know  some  good  ones  both  antemony 
and  silver,  i  know  mexico  well,  will  go  in  as  soon  as 
things  is  settled  up." 


146  'Along  the  Rio  Grande 

He  looked  at  me  hopefully.  "Which  do  you  think 
is  the  best  ?"  he  asked. 

It  was  a  difficult  question  to  answer,  and  I  was  so 
pleased  at  my  reply  that  for  a  short  while  afterward  I 
didn't  hear  what  he  said. 

"It's  hard  to  tell,"  I  replied.  "They  would  all  attract 
attention." 

When  I  next  became  aware  of  what  he  was  saying 
I  realized  that  he  was  putting  a  question  to  me.  "You 
noticed,"  he  inquired,  "that  I  say  I  know  Mexico  well 
in  all  those  ads?" 

"You  certainly  did,"  I  assured  him. 

"Well,  maybe  you  think  I  don't,"  he  answered, 
seating  himself  on  the  bench  beside  me,  "but  I  do.  I 
guess  I've  lost  as  much  money  in  there  as  anybody  in 
Nogales.  I  dropped  $60,000  in  an  antimony  mine  be- 
cause I  was  chased  out  by  this  trouble.  And  I  kissed 
$47,000  more  good-by  in  a  perjury  case."  The  "per- 
jury case,"  I  ascertained,  was  one  in  which  some  Mexi- 
cans, with  the  usual  Mexican  enthusiasm  for  such  things, 
had  committed  perjury  in  order  to  defraud  my  large  friend 
of  mines  which  were  rightfully  his. 

"You  should  have  found  out  something  about  it 
after  all  that,"  I  replied,  wondering  how  long  it  would 
be  before  I  was  allowed  to  return  to  my  sleep.  "What 
did  you  discover  that  no  one  else  knows?"  I  hoped 
by  this  strategy  to  limit  the  length  of  his  conversation, 
but  I  erred  grievously.  I  staggered  him,  but  he  came 
right  back  with  both  hands  almost  immediately. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I've  seen  ten  thousand  Yaqui  In- 
dians near  the  town  of  Meadno,  on  the  Yaqui  River, 
holding  a  religious  fiesta.  I  found  out  all  about  their 


Man  Who  Knew  Mexico  Well  147 

form  of  worship.  It's  some  sight,  I'll  tell  you.  I  knew 
them  pretty  well  and  they  let  me  watch  it.  It  was  taught 
them  by  the  Jesuit  priests  four  hundred  years  ago  and 
is  a  kind  of  pageant  that  lasts  for  sixteen  days. 

"Half  of  the  women  wore  blue  tapas,  which  are 
a  form  of  shawl,  and  the  rest  of  them  gray  ones.  They 
made  a  circle  in  which  were  six  great  wooden  crosses, 
and  at  each  one  of  them  in  turn  a  chief  with  a  lion's 
head  and  another  with  a  cow's  head  knelt  and  played 
mournful  tunes.  Both  chiefs  carried  a  wooden  dagger 
and  sword.  They  wiped  the  sword  on  their  heads  and 
then  were  able  to  control  the  people  by  them." 

"What  did  they  have  on  their  heads  that  enabled 
them  to  do  that?"  I  queried. 

"Nothing  —  just  superstition.  The  wiping  part  was 
only  in  the  ceremony.  There  were  four  runners  that 
ran  around  the  circle  for  ten  or  twelve  days  in  a  sort 
of  relay  race.  In  the  center  was  a  big  tomb  made  out 
of  mesquite  timber  and  by  its  side  was  a  wax  figure 
six  feet  high  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  The  tomb  was  more 
than  400  years  old  and  in  perfect  condition.  The  figure 
of  Virgin  Mary  was  about  the  same  age,  having  been 
given  them  by  the  priests  long  ago,  but  it  was  a  little 
more  weather  worn."  I  almost  lost  the  thread  of  the 
story  in  watching  him  perspire.  He  was  the  most  ac- 
complished person  in  this  department  I  have  ever  seen. 

"All  of  this  was  held  in  the  open  until  they  pulled 
off  the  resurrection  of  Christ,  and  for  this  they  hiked 
over  to  the  church  carrying  the  tomb  and  the  figure  of 
Mary.  Christ  was  represented  by  another  wax  image 
contained  in  the  tomb,  and  it  took  eight  men  to  lift  the 
lid  when  the  resurrection  was  held."  He  stopped  and 


148  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

looked  at  me.  "Ever  hear  tell  of  that  before?"  he 
asked.  I  was  forced  to  admit  that  it  was  all  news  to  me. 

"Well,  anyway,  it  makes  no  difference,"  he  an- 
swered, "for  that  wasn't  what  I  came  to  see  you  about. 
You're  going  back  to  New  York  and  I  wanted  your 
advice  about  having  one  of  these  ads  put  in  a  New 
York  paper  for  about  a  dollar.  I  want  to  get  some 
Eastern  capital  interested  in  me." 

I  think  I  convinced  him  after  a  while  that  a  dollar 
advertisement  at  the  present  time  in  New  York  would 
not  be  as  valuable  as  one  later,  when  Mexico  was  in  a 
less  disturbed  condition. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  he  said.  "Write  me  when  you  dope 
it  out  as  the  right  time  and  I'll  send  you  the  money. 
I'll  have  time  then  to  fix  up  a  new  and  longer  ad." 

He  mopped  his  face  once  more,  stooped  slightly  as 
he  went  through  the  rear  door  of  the  Montezuma  and 
disappeared  from  view. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
Will  the  Militia  Survive? 

It  is  quite  possible,  as  a  recruit  at  McAllen  had  con- 
fided to  me,  that  after  the  present  Mexican  difficulties 
have  been  solved  the  United  States  will  arouse  itself, 
rub  its  drowsy  eyes  and  look  for  its  fine  body  of  militia, 
only  to  discover  that  it  has  strangely  shrunk  to  but  a 
slender  remnant  of  its  former  self. 

"How  many  men  down  here  do  you  think  will 
re-enlist,  after  they've  been  through  these  experiences?" 
the  embyro  soldier  demanded  of  me  fiercely,  although 
I  tried  vainly  to  figure  how  I  could  in  any  way  be  held 
responsible  for  their  hardships.  He  waited  for  no  reply. 
He  claimed  the  privilege  of  answering  his  own  questions 
himself. 

"Hardly  a  single  one.  We  didn't  come  down  here 
to  dig  ditches,  nor  to  be  day  laborers  nor  policemen. 
We  have  businesses  at  home  that  are  suffering  by  our 
absence  and  it  doesn't  help  at  all  to  realize  we  are  now 
held  solely  for  patrol  work  which  should  be  done  by 
the  regular  army.  When  we  joined  the  militia  we  did 
so  with  the  understanding  that  we  would  not  be  called 
out  of  the  State  except  in  a  national  crisis,  and  only 
during  that  crisis.  We  didn't  kick  when  the  Mexican 
proposition  looked  bad,  but  we  do  kick  when  we  are 
retained  long  after  there  seems  to  be  any  necessity  for 
it.  We  didn't  sign  up  with  the  idea  of  becoming  a  first 
line  of  defense,  and  the  conditions  under  which  we  were 

149 


150  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

mustered  into  the  Federal  service  were  unfair.  It  was 
framed  so  that  if  a  fellow  refused  to  take  the  oath 
he  was  publicly  disgraced,  and  many  of  us  came  against 
our  will,  just  on  that  account.  The  New  Jersey  troops 
were  mustered  in  at  Sea  Girt.  Anybody  who  didn't 
wish  to  take  the  oath  was  told  to  step  out  of  the  ranks, 
strip  off  his  uniform  and  go  home.  All  the  clothes  they 
had  with  them  were  the  ones  they  wore,  so  if  they 
had  taken  advantage  of  this  kindly  offer  they  would 
have  been  forced  to  do  so  in  their  B.  V.  D.'s.  In  other 
troops  crosses  were  shaved  on  the  heads  of  those  with- 
drawing." 

"How  about  getting  new  recruits  to  take  the  place 
of  those  who  apply  for  their  discharge? "  I  asked. 

"The  only  way  the  militia  is  recruited,"  he  snorted, 
"is  by  members  of  it  persuading  their  friends  to  join, 
and  there'll  be  a  fat  lot  of  persuading  done  when  we 
get  home — I  don't  think." 

I  was  not  overly  surprised  by  these  sentiments  ex- 
pressed in  such  a  radical  fashion,  for  further  west  along 
the  border  I  had  heard  the  same  thing,  although  not 
quite  so  universally  as  at  McAllen.  The  regiments  con- 
taining the  greater  percentage  of  successful  business  men 
are,  as  is  natural,  the  most  anxious  to  return  home,  but 
even  in  the  others  I  had  listened  to  the  same  complaints, 
for  it  is  difficult  to  snatch  a  person  out  of  civilian  life, 
turn  him  into  a  soldier  and  make  him  like  it. 

This  attitude  of  the  men  constituting  the  National 
Guard,  however,  is  not  the  only  reason  for  its  probable 
downfall.  The  entire  mobilization  tended  to  prove  that 
the  State  militia  system  is  fatally  weak.  Soldiering 
is  a  business  and  it  is  one  that  requires  the  entire  and 


Will  the  Militia  Survive?  151 

Constant  attention  of  the  person  expecting  to  follow 
it.  Drilling  one  night  a  week  or  two  in  an  armory, 
camping  out  for  two  weeks  in  the  Summer  with  high- 
priced  cooks  furnishing  the  meals  and  other  features 
non-conformant  with  regulations,  while  the  rest  of  the 
time  is  spent  softening  up  in  an  office  is  not  the  way  to 
produce  an  army  ready  to  respond  at  an  instant's  notice 
to  its  country's  call.  When  it  does  answer  its  value  is 
problematical.  At  Columbus  a  New  Mexican  regiment, 
one  of  the  first  to  be  assembled  on  the  border,  was 
examined  shortly  after  its  arrival.  Forty  per  cent,  were 
found  unfit.  In  the  Illinois  contingent,  which  numbered 
14,312,  there  were  1,093  who  did  not  come  up  to  the 
required  standard.  This  was  considered  to  be  an  average 
showing. 

Many  of  the  officers  are  political  appointees  and 
are  inefficient.  The  militia  is  bound  hand  and  foot  in 
red  tape,  far  more  so  than  the  regular  army.  Orders 
given  one  day  are  countermanded  the  next,  and  the  effort 
to  conduct  things  in  a  thoroughly  military  fashion  makes 
things  more  confused  than  ever. 

The  militia  system  has  proved  also  to  be  inelastic. 
It  has  been  extremely  difficult  to  recruit  suddenly  from 
peace  to  war  strength,  and  many  men  had  been  held  in 
camp  because  their  regiments  were  unable  to  obtain  the 
required  number  of  men. 

Germany  declared  war  on  Russia  on  August  1, 
1914,  and  the  next  day  at  six  o'clock  her  regular  army 
was  in  Luxemburg,  at  noon  of  the  same  day  in  France 
and  on  August  4  in  Belgium.  In  six  days  she  had  1,850,- 
000  men  in  the  field.  President  Wilson  issued  on  July 
18  the  order  for  the  mobilization  of  the  troops  on  the 


153  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

border.  Six  days  afterward  there  were  less  than  29,000 
out  of  a  war  strength  total  of  128,000.  Figures  sup- 
plied by  ex-Secretary  of  War  Stimson  show  that  only 
44  per  cent,  of  these  had  as  much  as  1 00  hours'  training. 
Three  weeks  afterward,  on  July  9,  there  were  46,000 
men  either  on  their  way  to  the  border  or  actually  there 
from  the  Eastern  Department,  which  forms  70  per  cent, 
of  the  entire  National  Guard.  There  was  much  confu- 
sion resultant  in  their  equipment,  and  some  had  no  equip- 
ment at  all.  On  July  12  Washington  announced  that 
in  three  weeks  it  had  been  necessary  to  spend  $14,300,- 
000  for  clothing  and  supplies,  an  equivalent  of  $100  per 
man  for  an  army  of  143,000.  A  large  portion  of  this 
equipment  had  to  be  bought  in  the  open  market  at  war 
prices. 

But  when  all  this  money  had  been  expended  and 
all  these  men  reached  the  border  we  still  didn't  have 
an  army.  A  year's  hard  training  —  harder  than  the  ma- 
jority of  them  were  receiving — would  at  least  be  neces- 
sary to  render  them  efficient. 

One  of  the  young  men  on  the  border  broached  the 
idea  to  me  that  the  whole  purpose  of  this  mobilization 
was  to  break  down  the  National  Guard  and  build  up 
the  regular  army.  I  doubt  if  his  suspicions  are  correct, 
but  I  should  not  wonder  in  the  least  if  the  same  result 
was  nevertheless  obtained.  The  army  is  no  place  for 
a  married  man,  and  it  is  no  place  for  a  man  already  fol- 
lowing another  line  of  employment,  and  of  these  the 
militia  is  composed. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
The  Silent  (?)  Drama  at  Me  Allen. 

Three  things — possibly  more — were  impressed  upon 
me  by  the  motion  picture  performance  I  saw  at  McAllen 
with  several  members  of  the  Seventh  Regiment — that 
the  slowness  with  which  the  average  mortal  grasps  op- 
portunity is  remarkable;  in  spite  of  its  complaints  about 
the  food,  hospitals  and  other  minor  difficulties,  the  mili- 
tiaman really  possesses  a  sense  of  humor  which  one  is 
inclined  to  doubt  when  he  hears  him  converse  about 
these  subjects  and  that  there  are  certain  pleasurable  sides 
to  his  life  on  the  border  to  which  his  overweening  desire 
to  return  home  blinds  him. 

He  will  frequently  look  back  on  them  in  future  days 
and  tell  the  one  nearest  him  of  the  fine  time  he  had  during 
his  days  in  Texas. 

It  wasn't  until  the  troops  had  been  at  McAllen  for 
almost  a  month  that  it  even  occurred  to  our  enterprising 
citizens  there  were  possibilities  in  the  silent  drama  as  a 
money  maker  at  this  particular  point.  Then  they 
erected  an  extremely  weatherworn  tent  near  the  Seventh, 
brought  in  some  equally  weatherworn  films,  streaked  with 
dirt  and  grease,  and  proceeded  to  gather  in  the  gold — 
lots  of  it.  They  doubtless  could  have  made  a  great 
deal  more  if  they  had  exhibited  features  under  the  age 
limit,  but  they  considered  it  advisable  to  cut  every  ex- 
pense in  such  a  daring  enterprise  to  the  bone  and  acted 

153 


154  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

accordingly.  Emboldened  by  their  success,  another  open 
air  theatre  was  erected  near  them,  so  that  soon  McAllen 
possessed  two  places  of  entertainment. 

In  the  early  part  of  August  a  storm  came  and  tore 
to  shreds  the  big  tent  which  covered  the  large  amount  of 
supplies  which  they  kept  without  the  entrance  to  pamper 
the  appetites  of  men  unable  to  endure  the  long  picture 
performance  without  occasional  nourishment.  In  the 
latter  part  of  August  another  zephyr  of  eighty  miles  an 
hour  visited  the  locality,  knocked  down  the  shreds  and 
added  to  the  general  wreckage  of  the  fence  which  sur- 
rounded the  wooden  seats.  With  true  Southern  leisureli- 
ness,  both  shreds  and  fence,  however,  were  once  more 
raised.  The  shadowed  actors  again  held  forth  nightly 
that  soldiers  might  forget  their  cares  in  the  mysteries  of 
the  pictured  mazes. 

The  enlisted  man,  particularly  if  he  be  a  private, 
spends  about  one-half  of  his  time  taking  orders — the 
other  half  is  occupied  thinking  about  and  cursing  them. 
Motion  pictures  afford  him  the  finest  kind  of  an  oppor- 
tunity for  an  outlet  to  his  feelings.  They  enable  him  to 
'issue  commands  of  the  most  stringent  kind  to  the  actors 
on  the  screen,  and  there  isn't  a  single  chance  for  them  to 
answer  him  back,  nor  any  danger  of  his  being  court- 
martialed. 

Owing  to  the  profusion  of  orders  breaking  the  still- 
ness of  the  night  I  wasn't  quite  sure  when  I  entered 
whether  I  had  intruded  upon  a  drill  of  the  awkward  squad 
or  an  insane  asylum.  The  hero  and  the  heroine  were 
engaged  in  a  love  scene.  The  only  reason  whatever 
for  the  continuance  of  the  show  from  then  on  was  that 
the  actors  were  without  substance.  The  commotion  was 


The  Silent  (?)  Drama  at  Me  Allen  155 

worse  than  at  a  musical  comedy  on  the  night  of  a  foot- 
ball victory  at  New  Haven.  Loud  sounds  of  kissing  arose 
on  all  sides. 

"Steady,  men,  steady,"  advised  the  owner  of  a  bull- 
like  voice,  who  evidently  feared  that  the  emotions  of 
his  comrades  would  get  the  best  of  them  at  this  touching 
scene.  Another,  who  disliked  the  proximity  of  the  two 
lovers,  kept  demanding  they  remain  separated  by  the 
customary  military  distance,  forty  inches.  There  were 
others  to  whom  it  brought  back  sweet  memories  of  that 
almost  forgotten  city,  New  York,  and  they  ursfed  the 
repetition  of  the  osculation  in  the  cadence  to  which  they 
had  listened  so  many  times  in  drill — "One,  two,  three, 
four." 

There  is  no  doubt  about  it — the  villain  I  saw  on 
the  screen  that  night  was  a  hound,  one  of  the  drinking 
kind.  Even  if  I  had  failed  to  have  it  impressed  upon 
me  by  the  film  itself  I  could  not  have  been  mistaken 
after  I  had  heard  the  comments  made  upon  him  by 
members  of  the  National  Guard..  His  drinking  settled  it. 

"Put  him  in  the  guardhouse,  he's  been  drinking," 
some  one  bellowed, '  but  others  suggested  far  more  cruel 
punishment,  varying  from  being  assigned  to  the  cook 
or  mule  details  or  being  forced  to  do  sentry  duty  the 
following  week. 

The  poor  man,  for  after  all  he  was  only  an  em- 
bezzler and  not  worse  than  most  villains,  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  their  enmity.  In  the  end  he  suffered  for  it.  After 
taking  refuge  in  a  beer  cellar,  where  several  expressed 
a  longing  to  accompany  him,  the  detective  hero  came 
along  hot  on  his  trail.  The  audience  cried  out  to  him, 
informing  him  just  where  the  villain  was  hiding,  so  he 


156  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

had  little  excuse  to  be  taken  unawares  when  a  bullet 
was  fired  upon  him  on  his  way  down  the  cellar  stairs. 
Of  course,  the  leading  lady  had  to  mix  into  it  in  spite 
of  much  advice  from  the  spectators.  She,  too,  soon 
learned  that  the  intelligence  of  her  well  wishers  was  far 
above  par.  The  next  minute  she  stopped  a  large  piece 
of  lead  from  the  gun  of  the  bank  embezzler.  To  be  sure, 
she  recovered,  the  detective  overcame  his  foe  and  every- 
thing ended  happily,  but  oh,  what  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
they  could  have  been  saved  if  they  had  only  listened 
to  the  militiamen  as  attentively  as  I  did. 

Sub-titles  were  read  by  self-appointed  volunteers 
with  loud  and  painstaking  care,  and  the  appropriate  fal- 
setto was  used  when  the  words  were  those  of  a  woman. 
It  was  entirely  unnecessary  for  the  men  in  the  back  seats 
to  strain  their  eyes. 

A  news  film  showing  a  group  of  Warden  Osborne's 
convicts  was  flashed  upon  the  screen  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  feature.  Loud  moans  arose,  in  which  the  bitterness 
could  not  be  mistaken. 

"Lucky  dogs!"  a  young  fellow  near  me  exclaimed. 
'They  know  when  they're  going  home." 

Just  before  the  soldiers  began  to  file  out  to  return 
to  their  camps  I  looked  at  the  inky  sky  above,  punctured 
with  a  million  dazzling  peepholes  into  heaven.  It's  dif- 
ferent than  it  is  in  New  York.  One  misses  the  familiar 
constellations  that  have  been  pointed  to  them  since  child- 
hood. Distance  has  sunk  the  Big  Dipper  into  the  horizon 
to  make  room  for  other  and  brighter  figures,  and  through 
them  all  sweeps  the  luminous  Milky  Way  so  much  plainer 
than  we  are  accustomed  to  seeing  it  in  the  North  that 
it  is  sometimes  not  until  several  nights  after  their  arrival 


The  Silent  (f)  Drama  at  Me  Allen  157 

that  new  recruits  are  able  to  convince  themselves  it  Is 
not  a  path  of  bright  clouds.  Every  once  in  a  while  a 
gleaming  meteor  sweeps  across  the  skies  and  loses  itself 
In  the  throng. 

Those  on  the  border  didn't  know  then  when  they 
would  be  in  their  homes  once  more,  but  some  time — per- 
haps not  long — they  would.  It  will  not  be  many  eve- 
nings later  that  they  will  be  gazing  up  into  the  skies 
again  and  comparing  them  to  those  once  above  them 
in  Texas.  They  will  forget  how  keenly  they  appreciated 
the  private's  remark  about  the  convicts.  If  they  remem- 
ber, they  will  wonder. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
The  Border  Y.  M.  C.  A. 

In  the  new  Y.  M.  C.  A.  building  No.  1,  used  by  the 
Seventh  and  Twelfth  New  York  infantries  stationed  at 
McAllen,  hung  a  memorandum  sheet  with  the  request 
printed  at  the  top  that  the  men  kindly  indicate  by  writing 
below  the  subjects  in  which  they  were  interested  and 
every  effort  would  be  made  to  provide  speakers  on  those 
topics.  Many  of  the  men  had  availed  themselves  of  the 
invitation  and  a  closer  scrutiny  revealed  "women,"  "bil- 
liards," "wine,"  "tarantula  collecting,"  "mule  driving," 
"surf  bathing,"  mingled  among  the  items  of  weightier 
content.  It  might  indicate  to  the  hasty  observer  a  spirit 
of  levity  entirely  out  of  keeping  with  the  character  of  the 
work  advanced  by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  but  such  is  not  the 
case.  It  is  but  an  additional  proof  that  the  men  regarded 
the  institution  in  the  light  of  something  that  was  distinctly 
"human"  and  run  by  men  whose  viewpoint  toward  life 
was  the  same  as  theirs  and  who  would  not  throw  up  their 
hands  in  holy  horror  at  the  first  signs  that  the  militiamen 
were  not  wearing  out  the  knees  of  their  khaki  breeches  in 
continual  prayer. 

"The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  is  the  most  sensible  charitable  or 
religious  enterprise  I've  ever  run  up  against,"  said  a  for- 
mer footall  star  of  Yale  who  is  now  in  a  troop  of  Squad- 
ron A.  "They  don't  cast  their  religion  at  your  head,  and 
you  can  take  or  leave  that  part  of  it,  just  as  you  wish." 

158 


Border  Y.  M.  C.  A.  159 

I  have  been  at  the  principal  army  centers  along  the 
border.  I  find  that  the  same  feeling  exists  everywhere, 
and  the  very  fact  that  "God's  truths"  are  not  crammed 
down  the  spiritual  throats  of  youthful  pagans  makes  it 
the  more  difficult  to  find  many  who  wish  to  remain  in  the 
class  of  unbelievers.  It  is  a  work  sensibly  conceived  and 
sensibly  carried  out. 

Along  the  Mexican  line  are  thirty-eight  of  their 
sturdy  looking  wooden  buildings  in  use,  by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
Thirty-seven  more  are  soon  to  be  built.  There  are  150 
secretaries  employed  and  104,600  soldiers  are  served. 
At  almost  any  hour  of  the  day  the  places  may  be  found 
filled  with  boys  writing  home  to  their  families  and  best 
beloveds.  It  is  here,  though  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  can  hardly 
be  held  responsible,  that  many  of  the  tales  of  imaginary 
hardships  which  the  recruits  feel  it  necessary  to  relate  are 
transferred  to  paper  and  sent  hurrying  on  their  way 
North. 

The  buildings  are  90  feet  long  and  lighted  with 
electricity.  Along  the  sides  are  writing  tables,  which  are 
the  most  used  articles  in  the  place.  The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  fur- 
nishes all  of  the  paper,  and  the  total  on  some  days  is  as 
high  as  6,000  sheets  in  a  building,  although  the  average 
is  about  1,500.  What  light  there  is  in  the  tents  of  the 
mililiamen  is  furnished  by  oil  lanterns,  and  their  only 
writing  tables  are  their  cots,  so  it  can  be  seen  why  this 
feature  has  proved  so  popular. 

Occasionally  a  storm  comes  along  in  Texas  and 
blows  down  a  large  number  of  the  tents,  and  the  men 
have  been  obliged  to  look  for  shelter  where  they  could. 
Many  of  them  have  obtained  it  in  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  build- 
ings. Twice  the  one  used  by  the  Seventh  and  Twelfth 


160  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

regiments  has  been  turned  into  a  temporary  hospital 
when  the  tents  of  the  Field  Hospital  Corps  were  leveled 
by  the  wind — once  early  in  August  and  again  on  the  nine- 
teenth of  the  same  month,  when  the  Field  Hospital  Corps 
found  itself  without  shelter  and  when  half  of  the  tents  in 
other  regiments  were  wrenched  from  their  moorings. 

Books  are  placed  in  all  of  the  different  branches, 
and  it  was  planned  to  have  about  a  hundred  in  each. 
A  large  part  of  these  come  from  the  Carnegie  libraries, 
the  rest  from  private  sources.  George  W.  Perkins  was 
one  of  the  contributors  with  a  check  for  $5,000  and  the 
Carnegie  Institution  sent  in  an  additional  $65,000.  These 
examples  have  been  followed  by  many,  although  on  not 
so  large  a  scale.  The  Red  Cross  sent  as  their  field  repre- 
sentative to  inquire  into  conditions  on  the  border  Dr. 
E.  A.  Crockett.  It  did  not  take  him  long  to  decide  upon 
his  report.  It  was  brief.  "Send  all  your  aid,"  he  wrote, 
"to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,"  and  as  a  result  the  Red  Cross  Asso- 
ciation has  been  supplying  all  of  the  ice  which  the  build- 
ings are  able  to  use — and  the  item  is  not  a  small  one. 
Frequent  motion  picture  performances  and  lectures  are 
also  held. 

"We  don't  try  to  make  the  fellows  feel  they  are 
black  sheep  if  they  fail  to  avail  themselves  of  the  religious 
side  of  our  work,"  said  H.  C.  Whiteside,  one  of  the  secre- 
taries of  Building  No.  1  at  McAllen  and  a  graduate  of  the 
class  of  1910  of  Pennsylvania,  "but  their  enthusiasm 
doesn't  seem  to  be  dulled  on  that  account.  At  all  of  the 
services  and  lectures  the  buildings  are  filled.  Frequently 
the  army  chaplains  use  the  place  for  their  work. 

"We  try  to  have  a  station  for  every  two  or  three 
thousand  men,  but  we  need  additional  buildings  and  thirty- 


Border  Y.  M.  C.  A.  161 

four  more  secretaries.  We  will  need  at  least  $500,000 
to  keep  up  the  work  if  the  troops  are  held  much  longer 
on  the  border.  So  far  we  have  raised  $150,000  and  have 
not  been  pressed  for  funds,  but  the  rest  must  be  forthcom- 
ing or  it  will  have  to  be  abandoned." 

In  contrast  to  the  sane  and  normal  attitude  of  the  sec- 
retaries in  charge  and  the  character  of  the  work  itself  which 
I  have  already  mentioned,  the  tone  of  the  publication  issued 
by  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  under  the  name  of  Border  Work  is 
somewhat  amusing  and  reminds  one  strongly  of  the  experi- 
ences of  the  professionally  reformed  at  revival  meetings. 

Cast  your  eye  over  the  excerpt  which  follows.  It  is 
not  hard  to  picture  the  writer  as  he  strove  for  inspira- 
tion with  fingers  placed  tip  to  tip  and  his  eyes  turned 
sanctimoniously  toward  heaven.  It  appears  under  the 
caption  of  "A  Rare  Opportunity  for  Service." 

"A  man  came  up  to  the  secretary  at  Camp  Cotton, 
El  Paso,  the  other  evening  when  he  was  the  busiest,"  it 
reads,  "and  said:  'I  must  have  your  help.'  ,His  voice 
grew  husky  and  a  tear  furrowed  the  dust-begrimed  face. 

"Dropping  the  work  he  had  in  hand,  the  secretary 
said :  'What  may  I  do  for  you  ? ' 

"The  soldier  showed  a  sore  right  hand,  which  pre- 
vented writing,  and  after  a  moment  said:  'Just  before 
leaving  home  my  little  girl  was  taken  ill  and  she  didn't 
get  any  better,  but  I  had  to  leave  the  wife  and  sick  girl 
and  come  on  out  here.  Now  I  have  a  telegram  saying 
the  dear  little  thing  is  not  expected  to  live;  I  must  write 
a  letter  and,  yet,  because  of  this  hand,  I  can't.  Will  you 
do  it  for  me? ' 

"And  the  secretary,  with  joy  in  his  heart  to  be  able 
to  help,  wrote  at  the  soldier's  dictation." 


162  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

Then  there  is  another  one.  It  tells,  according:  to 
the  headline,  "How  the  Cook  Kept  Sweet."  The  cook 
had  a  hard  time.  Tarantulas  and  scorpions  had  been 
holding  dress  parade  in  his  close  vicinity,  some  hard- 
hearted person  had  hung  a  rattlesnake  skin  outside  of 
his  tent.  It  made  him  nervous.  Added  to  this  it  was 
pouring  without  and  the  water  "flowed  against  his  al- 
ready wet  body."  He  thought  of  his  task  of  getting 
breakfast  for  the  boys  in  the  morning  and  knew  that  he 
must  get  some  sleep.  He  decided  there  were  two  things 
he  could  do,  dig  a  trench  around  his  tent  and  pray. 

"So  I  got  up,"  the  article  quotes  him  as  saying, 
"and  ditched  my  pup  tent  to  turn  the  water  off,  and  then 
I  crawled  back  and  put  it  up  to  God  to  give  me  peace  of 
mind  and  keep  me  through  the  night  and  help  me  make 
the  best  of  it.  And,  boys,  with  that  prayer,  a  peace  came 
into  my  soul  and  I  slept  like  a  babe  till  daybreak,  and 
the  boys  in  my  company  had  their  breakfast  and  had  a 
good  one." 

It  is  to  be  regretted  the  cook  did  not  try  his  experi- 
ments separately,  instead  of  bunching  his  hits.  It  would 
be  well  to  know  definitely  the  relative  efficiency  of  the 
invocation  and  the  shovel. 

But  the  fact  still  remains  that  the  enterprise  is  one 
of  the  most  worthy  on  the  border.  He  who  wishes  to  help 
along  a  splendid  charity  is  advised  in  the  words  of  Solo- 
mon to  "kick  in."  It  would  be  difficult  to  help  the  army 
in  a  better  way. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Why  the  Army's  Like  a  Serpent. 

Napoleon  was  a  great  man,  yes,  a  very  great  man. 
Napoleon  spoke  many  mouthfuls  of  truths  and  people 
credit  him  with  many  more  mouthfuls  of  fireside  sayings 
which  he  never  uttered,  but  which  are  just  as  true.  One 
of  them  was  his  cryptic  (cribbed  from  a  Great  philos- 
opher whose  name,  I  think,  ends  hi  "fleas"),  remark  to 
the  effect  that  an  army,  like  the  serpent,  travels  on  its 
belly. 

Of  course,  the  good  general  had  no  reference  to 
the  method  of  its  procedure,  but  to  the  fact  that  the 
stomach  (this,  I  think,  is  a  more  refined  word  for  that 
organ)  is  the  all-important  thing  when  any  army  move- 
ments are  to  be  taken  under  consideration.  He  should 
have  added  that  any  army's  brains  exist  in  its  stomach 
and  that  all  its  waking,  sleeping,  working  and  loafing 
hours  are  in  intimate  contact  with  the  same,  and  he  would 
then  have  been  just  as  right  as  Sherman  when  he  unfortu- 
nately remarked  that  war  was — well,  you  know  just  as 
well  as  I. 

I've  been  along  a  great  stretch  of  border — the  border 
can  stretch  better  than  anything  I  know.  I've  conversed 
with  troops  from  Connecticut,  Pennsylvania,  Massachu- 
setts, Rhode  Island  and  Michigan  at  El  Paso,  boys  from 
Illinois  and  Wisconsin  at  San  Antonio,  a  few  from  New 
Jersey  and  Montana  at  Douglas,  the  very  native  sons 

163 


164  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

from  California,  the  Idaho  and  Hartford  cavalry  troops  at 
Nogales,  our  friends  from  New  Mexico  at  Columbus  and 
a  great  many  others  at  a  great  many  other  places  (names 
furnished  on  request),  and  I  learned  that  all  or  any  of 
them  could  conduct  an  extremely  vivid  and  intelligent 
conversation  on  the  problematical  time  of  their  shipment 
home  or  of  the  food  which  is  supplied  them. 

You  have  no  idea  until  you  have  associated  with 
the  National  Guard  for  some  time  in  what  a  number  of 
different  angles  food  can  be  approached  in  a  conversa- 
tional way.  Food,  real  or  imaginary,  seems  to  possess 
a  fascination  all  its  own.  In  New  York  a  crowd  can 
always  be  gathered  by  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  street 
and  gazing  intently  up  at  the  top  of  some  tall  building. 
On  the  border  it  can  be  accomplished  by  nonchalantly 
beginning  a  description  of  a  multiple  course  dinner  with 
particular  emphasis  laid  upon  the  fat,  opulent  appearing 
planked  steak  with  juice  oozing  from  it. 

I  was  more  or  less  alarmed  at  first,  for  I  began 
to  suspect  that  the  Government  was  involved  in  some 
gigantic  scheme  to  starve  our  boys  at  the  front  into  a 
comatose  state  with  intent  to  prevent  them  from  voting 
on  election  day. 

This  thought  was  first  broached  to  me  in  El  Paso — 
it  was  the  first  place  at  which  I  had  stopped.  I  heard 
it  for  the  last  time  at  McAllen — it  was  the  last  place  at 
which  I  stopped. 

I  entered  the  Palace  of  Sweets,  run  by  the  noble 
Mayor  of  McAllen.  Without  mentioning  his  name,  by 
the  way,  I  can  safely  say  that  there  are  persons  whom 
the  militia  stationed  at  McAllen  loved  more  dearly  than 
this  worthy  person.  It  was  through  his  efforts  that  the 


Why  the  Army's  Like  a  Serpent.  165 

delivery  of  cream  to  the  First  Cavalry  and  other  can- 
teens was  stopped;  it  was  through  his  efforts  that  the 
larger  part  of  the  available  cream  supply  was  bought  up 
so  that  the  prices  for  their  by-products  might  be  regulated 
as  he  saw  fit.  Then,  too,  said  the  boys  from  New  York, 
the  portions  served  at  his  sweet  dispensary  are  more  than 
unusually  small  in  ratio  to  the  prices  which  he  affixes 
thereto.  In  any  event,  it  was  due  to  my  search  for  a 
cigar  in  his  emporium  that  I  had  the  wicked  truth  of  the 
Government's  perfidy  unfolded  to  me. 

An  artilleryman,  seated  with  a  companion  at  one 
of  the  tables,  plucked  me  confidentially  by  the  sleeve. 
He  hastily  swallowed  a  spoonful  of  ice  cream  which  he 
had  extracted  with  great  deliberation  from  the  chocolate 
depths  of  the  glass  and  pointed  with  the  dripping  end 
of  his  soda  implement  to  the  red  C  which  a  harsh  Gov- 
ernment required  me  to  wear,  like  the  scarlet  letter,  as 
an  emblem  of  my  profession  as  correspondent. 

"What's  'at  stand  for?"  he  asked,  with  the  mini- 
mum raising  of  eyebrows  required  to  denote  interroga- 
tion. 

"  'At  means  I  extract  a  living  from  a  newspaper,'1 
I  told  him. 

I  knew  that  I  was  not  yet  at  liberty  to  retire,  so 
I  waited  until  his  spoon  returned  from  another  trip  mouth- 
ward  and  was  detailed  to  point  out  a  chair  in  which  I 
might  seat  myself. 

"Got  some  good  dope  for  you,"  he  said.  "Meet 
my  friend."  The  friend,  as  nearly  as  I  was  able  to  judge, 
was  nameless,  but  appeared  to  appreciate  the  attention 
bestowed  upon  him,  nevertheless. 

"It's  this  way,"  the  artilleryman  began.     "The  Gov- 


166  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

ernment  isn't  giving  us  enough  to  eat.  He  emphasized 
his  remarks  by  taking  another  spoonful.  ''They  get  us 
down  here  so's  we  can't  vote  against  Wilson  when  elec- 
tion comes  along,  and  then  they  starve  us." 

His  friend  nodded  vigorously  with  pleased  realization 
of  the  wisdom  and  force  of  the  other's  remarks.  "Yes," 
he  said,  "they  starve  us." 

The  other  continued:  "Fellows  are  getting  sick  all 
the  time  because  the  food  is  so  bum."  He  waved  his 
spoon  vigorously. 

"And  then  when  they  get  sick  they  ain't  treated 
right  at  the  hospital.  You  go  to  them  with  stomach 
trouble"  (I  had  my  own  private  views  as  to  the  probable 
reason),  "and  they  give  you  a  pill.  You  go  to  them  with 
a  broken  rib  and  they  give  you  a  pill.  You  go  to  them 
with  anything  at  all  and  they'll  give  you  a  pill.  I  guess 
all  these  boobs  know  is  pills." 

He  finished  his  ice  cream,  raised  his  eyes  for  a  brief 
second  in  thought  and  decided  that  he  would  have  another 
one.  He  included  me  in  the  invitation.  When  none  of 
it  remained  he  rose. 

Again  he  thought,  and  again  the  effort  was  produc- 
tive of  result. 

"Tell  you,"  he  said,  "you  eat  with  me  to-night  and 
I'll  show  you  what  we  get.  Government  starves  us." 

I  accepted.  Food  is  scarce  in  McAllen.  The  res- 
taurants have  reached  the  heights  of  their  imagination 
when  they  supply  ham  and  eggs  for  a  meal.  I  went  into 
a  place  called  "Jack's,  2,500  Miles  From  Sixth  Avenue," 
when  I  arrived.  The  name  is  unusually  well  chosen  in 
that  their  stock  in  trade  gives  one  the  impression  of  hav- 
ing traveled  the  entire  2,500  miles  by  slow  freight.  It 


Why  the  Army's  Like  a  Serpent.  167 

was  a  little  later  than  the  usual  meal  hour  and  I  found 
the  door  locked.  Being  hungry  and  desperate,  I  ham- 
mered vigorously.  As  a  great  favor  I  was  admitted, 
but  only  after  I  had  convinced  them  that  my  need  was 
great. 

"What  have  you  got?  "  I  asked. 

"Ham  and  eggs,"  replied  the  Mexican  who  waited 
on  me. 

"What  else?"  I  continued,  beginning  to  become 
interested. 

"Ham  and  eggs,"  was  the  stoical  reply.  "What  you 
wish?" 

I  thought  it  over  and  decided  that  I  would  like  some 
ham  and  eggs  very  much.  Perseverance  on  my  part — 
one  has  to  be  persevering  in  McAllen — resulted  in  adding 
coffee  and  sugar  to  the  repast,  but  was  unable  to  ac- 
complish anything  in  the  line  of  butter  or  napkins.  My 
artillery  friend  needed  no  power  of  eloquence  to  induce 
me  to  accompany  him  to  his  camp. 

We  jumped  into  a  McAllen  "jitney,"  which  charges 
two  jitneys  for  the  excursion,  and  soon  found  ourselves 
awaiting  call  to  mess.  Before  it  came  there  was  a  wild 
scramble  for  mess  kits  and  from  somewhere  within  the 
depths  of  a  tent  my  friend  dug  up  one  for  me,  although 
I  fear  from  the  heartfelt  curses  I  later  heard  during  the 
meal  that  they  were  procured  without  the  owner's  knowl- 
edge. 

Large  portions  of  an  unidentified  soup,  consisting 
of  peas,  carrots,  rice  and  meat,  a  trifle  smaller  portions 
of  roast  beef  and  sweet  potatoes,  iced  tea  and  a  dessert 
that  sometimes  goes  under  the  name  of  "heavenly  slush," 


166  Along  the  Rio  Grande. 

which  is  made  up  of  oranges  and  bananas  sliced  together, 
were  served  to  us  with  the  usual  quota  of  flies.  These 
latter  made  necessary  "two-handed"  eating — one  hand 
waves  gently  back  and  forth  to  distress  the  flies  while  the 
other  conveys  food  to  the  mouth.  When  I  finished  I 
was  reasonably  sure  I  had  had  a  meal  —  and  several 
winged  insects. 

My  host  did  it  ample  justice,  but  as  we  cleaned  up 
the  dishes  afterward  seemed  to  be  somewhat  disap- 
pointed. 

"A  little  better  than  it  usually  is,"  he  grunted, 
but  from  other  meals  which  I  had  had  with  the  troops 
I  knew  that  nowhere  were  the  men  in  danger  of 
starvation. 

Later  in  the  evening  we  went  to  the  open-air  movies. 
I  learned  that  even  when  lost  in  the  mysteries  of  a  motion 
picture  plot  the  soldier's  mind  is  still  firmly  enwrapped  in 
food.  It  is  amazing  to  see,  when  one's  attention  is  called 
to  it,  the  number  of  banquet  scenes  which  appear  in  the 
average  photo-play.  That  evening  there  were  six — each 
one  of  which  caused  the  men  acute  mental  suffering. 
With  the  appearance  of  the  waiter  at  the  point  where 
the  villain  had  lured  the  heroine  to  a  restaurant  and  was 
attempting  to  ply  her  with  wine,  a  loud,  longing  voice 
bellowed  an  order  to  the  pictured  servant.  It  was  a 
simple  one,  but  comprehensive. 

"Waiter,"  he  said,  "bring  me  a  blue-point  cock- 
tail, canteloupe,  two  orders  of  guinea  hen  and  a  keg  of 
beer." 

Another  cried,  as  one  to  whom  such  things  were 
a  memory  of  strange  luxuries,  long  since  forgotten. 


Why  the  Army's  Like  a  Serpent.  169 

"Look  I  They've  got  real  tablecloths  and  butter  and 
dishes." 

It  neared  9  o'clock,  when  all  enlisted  men  are  re- 
quired to  be  in  their  camps.  They  began  to  rise  and  file 
out.  My  friend  suddenly  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Got  to  go,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "Coin'  to  stop 
at  the  canteen  for  a  bite  to  eat." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Little  Brown  Muchachos. 

"The  Mexican  race,"  a  Nogales  citizen  once  con- 
fided to  me,  "would  be  a  fine  one  if  women  more  than 
30  and  males  past  12  did  not  form  such  a  large  por- 
tion of  its  population.  A  senorita  atones  for  a  multitude 
of  sins  on  the  part  of  her  people,  and  after  knowing  their 
boys  one  wonders  how  they  can  grow  up  into  such  unde- 
sirable citizens." 

Whether  or  not  you  are  willing  to  concede  their 
failure  as  adults  it  is  not  hard  to  see  a  certain  amount  of 
truth  in  the  remainder  of  his  remarks. 

The  beauty  of  the  senorita  with  more  Spanish  than 
Indian  blood  in  her  veins  is  too  well  known  to  need  much 
comment.  The  Mexican  muchacho,  however,  has  re- 
ceived less  than  is  due  him.  He  is  the  politest  person  of 
a  race  universally  polite;  he  is  the  most  friendly  and 
guileless  person  of  a  race  that  beneath  its  politeness  is 
suspicious  and  treacherous.  It  may  be  they  are  a  proof 
of  the  possibilities  of  the  Mexican  race  if  it  received 
treatment  which  did  not  tend  to  bring  out  its  worst  qual- 
ities. They  are  the  happiest  things  in  the  world  with 
the  least  to  make  them  joyous.  It  is  a  happiness  of  the 
contagious  variety.  They  have  such  an  utmost  con- 
fidence in  every  one  that  it's  hard  to  explain  how  such 
trust  can  vanish  with  manhood. 

One  of  the  most  alluring  outdoor  sports  in  McAllen 

170 


Little  Brown  Muchachos.  171 

is  shoeshining,  both  for  the  shiner  and  the  shinee.  All 
day  long  barefooted  boys  with  high  piping  voices  travel 
the  street  crying  "Shine,  senor."  It  is  the  one  thing 
upon  which  the  McAllen  price  has  not  soared — it  remains 
at  five  cents — cinco  centavos,  somewhat  surprising  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  for  each  shine  it  requires  the  services 
of  not  one  young  man,  but  six  or  more. 

The  muchacho  possesses  a  sixth  sense,  of  this  I  am 
certain.  As  an  experiment  I  have  waited  to  engage  the 
services  of  a  future  revolutionist  when  none  of  his  kind 
were  in  sight.  In  less  than  a  minute  there  were  seven 
added  starters  seated  in  front  of  me  on  their  upturned 
boxes  giving  expert  advice,  the  result  of  weeks  of  experi- 
ence, upon  the  art  of  polishing.  They  watched  the  pro- 
ceedings with  eyes  of  awe  and  wonder — for  a  shoe  shine 
in  McAllen  is  a  thing  of  mystery — one  not  to  be  taken 
lightly. 

The  small,  round  felt  hat  which  they  wear  is  not 
the  least  part  of  their  attire.  More  than  ever  it  gives 
them  the  appearance  of  little  foreign  brownies.  Their 
shirts,  with  the  collars  turned  in  and  the  sleeves  rolled 
up,  were  once  the  property  of  some  older  brother.  How 
the  first  born  came  by  his  I  am  unable  to  say,  but  I  am 
convinced  there  must  be  factories  for  the  express  purpose 
of  turning  out  second  hand  shirts  for  diminutive  border 
boys.  They  are  never  new. 

Shoeshining  is  not  a  business,  as  one  might  think, 
but  a  relaxation  for  the  muchachos.  Otherwise  they 
would  not  be  so  prodigal  with  the  amount  of  polish  which 
they  use,  nor  with  the  length  of  time  which  they  expend 
on  each  shoe.  At  the  completion  of  their  job  red  paste 
is  everywhere — on  their  hands,  their  shirts  and  the  en- 


178  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

thusiastically  smiling  faces  turned  up  to  tell  you  they 
are  finished.  A  tip  sends  them  into  a  delirium  of  joy, 
although  the  chief  pleasure  they  receive  from  their  opera- 
tions is  an  artistic  rather  than  a  pecuniary  one. 

Most  of  them  speak  little  English,  but  instead  con- 
verse glibly  in  Spanish  with  their  gallery.  When  one 
enjoys  the  services  of  a  linguist,  however,  the  fact  does 
not  long  remain  a  secret,  for  pride  in  his  mastery  of  the 
gringo  language  is  such  that  he  insists  on  telling  his  em- 
ployer all  of  his  brief  past  life  and  his  soaring  ambitions 
for  the  future.  In  their  roseate  insight  into  the  land  of 
manana,  the  fearless  toreador  takes  the  place  of  the 
circus  clown  of  the  American  youth,  and  the  noble  art 
of  warfare  contains  for  them  infinite  more  allurement 
than  the  bluecoated  life  of  a  policeman. 

Dan,  from  whom  I  obtained  the  greatest  part  of 
my  information,  told  me  he  was  attaining  a  great  pro- 
ficiency through  faithful  practice  on  the  family  goat. 
He  had  trained  the  creature  to  charge  in  a  most  satisfying 
manner  and  needed  no  rag  of  red  to  stimulate  his  desire 
for  an  unhampered  life.  If  he  could  sidestep  a  goat  with 
such  agility  and  accuracy,  he  asked  with  an  unexplained 
faith  in  my  judgment  of  a  born  bull-fighter,  why  wouldn't 
he  be  just  as  successful  with  bulls,  and  didn't  I  think  he 
would  win  much  fame  as  a  toreador?  I  certainly  did, 
and  I  made  him  promise  to  let  me  know  in  sufficient  time 
that  I  might  be  present  at  his  first  public  appearance. 

He  left  me,  so  enwrapped  in  the  allurement  of  his 
dreams,  that  for  once  he  was  unconscious  of  the  admiring 
group  of  seven  who  followed  him  up  the  street. 

Their  courtesy  is  unfailing.  It  seems  to  be  sincere, 
probably  because,  in  contrast  to  their  parents,  they  are 


Little  Brown  Muchachos.  173 

as  vet  ignorant  of  the  hardness  of  the  world  about  them. 
Unlike  most  children,  they  follow  the  mandates  of  polite- 
ness even  where  it  involves  physical  or  mental  discom- 
fort on  their  part. 

As  I  neared  a  wooden  shed  in  McAllen  containing 
shower  baths — for  in  that  part  of  Texas  bathine.  is  a 
distinct  institution,  entirely  separate  from  one's  lodging, 
and  if  one  would  bathe  he  pavs  for  it — I  noticed  be- 
neath a  swarm  of  flies  a  tinv  vonth  can-vine  a  laree  basket 
of  cakes.  Attracted,  like  the  flies,  bv  the  burden  of  the 
delicacies  supported  by  the  youthful  salesman,  were  a 
group  of  children.  A  spasm  of  generosity  shook  my 
bosom  I  held  forth  ten  cents. 

"Here,"  I  said,  as  the  eyes  of  his  followers  nearly 
popped  out  of  their  brown  heads  in  ea,eer  anticipation. 
"Take  all  the  doughnuts  that  buys  and  divide  them  up 
among  yourselves." 

Forth  from  the  basket  his  small  hand  took  ten  crul- 
lers. Including  himself,  there  were  eleven  boys  in  the 
party.  I  awaited  developments.  Each  in  turn  greedily 
received  his  piece  until  all  but  the  vendor  had  one. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  get  any?  "  I  asked. 
,  "There  are  but  ten  cakes  and  eleven  of  us,  senor," 
he  replied,  somewhat  embarrassed.  "I  will  go  without." 
He  would  gladly  have  done  so,  too,  for  politeness  de- 
manded it,  but  I  produced  another  centavo  from  the  re- 
cesses of  my  pocket  and  enabled  him  to  participate  in 
the  fiesta  with  the  others.  He  ate  it  with  a  haste  that 
convinced  me  his  generosity  had  not  been  the  product  of 
a  lack  of  appetite. 

Perhaps  you  are  skeptical  of  the  kindness  of  a  char- 
ity furnishing  doughnuts  to  5 -year-olds,  but  it  is  because 


174  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

you  are  unaware  of  how  digestible  they  are  compared  to 
the  usual  diet.  From  their  earliest  months  they  are  fed 
on  tortillas  covered  with  chili  sauce,  frijoles  and  other 
articles  of  food  so  highly  spiced  one  wonders  if  originally 
the  Mexicans  were  not  related  in  some  way  to  the  goats 
seen  so  frequently  about  their  places. 

The  unsuspecting  faith  in  human  nature  which  is 
the  happy  possession  of  the  Mexican  nino  is  due  to  the 
kindness  and  love  he  receives  in  his  family  and  the  genial 
tolerance  which  he  enjoys  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 
The  youngsters  amuse  the  militiaman  along  the  border. 
He  feels  none  of  the  antipathy  for  them  which  he  ex- 
tends to  the  men  of  the  race.  The  children  sense  this, 
and  their  attitude  toward  the  strange  soldiers  who  have 
invaded  the  border  is  one  of  intense  curiosity  combined 
with  a  large  amount  of  liking. 

They  are  too  young  yet  to  know  how  their  parents 
hate  the  gringoes,  or  why.  They  only  know  them  now 
as  men  who  laugh  good  naturedly  and  give  them  money, 
real  money,  for  services  rendered. 

Strangest  of  all  their  characteristics  and  the  hardest 
to  understand,  is  the  perpetual  sunlight  in  their  hearts, 
which  seems  not  to  become  less  bright  even  when  they 
reach  maturity.  Among  the  lower  classes  life  is  little 
else  than  existence.  When  they  are  still  almost  only  in- 
fants their  parents  are  forced,  unwillingly,  to  put  them 
to  work,  for  in  spite  of  love  empty  stomachs  must  be  fed. 

Even  before  their  years  permit  of  work  their  imag- 
inations are  not  sufficiently  well  developed  to  supply  them 
with  much  amusement.  Their  games  are  few  and  their 
sports  seem  to  consist  chiefly  of  swimming  like  muskrats 
in  irrigation  canals,  rolling  iron  hoops  along  a  dusty  road 


Little  Brown  Muchachos.  175 

or  walking  busily  along  the  same  dusty  roads  to  no  place 
in  particular.  But  wherever  they  wander  or  whatever 
they  are  doing  one  does  not  have  to  wait  long  before 
hearing  them  burst  forth  in  song.  It's  a  song  of  to-mor- 
row and  happiness.  Whether  or  not  that  particular  "to- 
morrow" finds  them  altered  to  irresponsible,  suspicious, 
thieving  and  treacherous  men  there  is  one  characteristic 
in  which  there  will  be  no  change.  They  will  still  be 
singing  happily  of  manana.  It  will  be  another  to-mor- 
row, to  be  sure,  but  one  in  which  their  faith  has  not  been 
lessened  by  the  disappointments  they  have  suffered  in 
the  past 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 
Getting  the  Range  of  the  Texas  Ranger. 

Have  you  ever  seen  a  bunch  of  chickens  scatter 
when  a  belligerent  rooster  stalks  into  their  midst?  You 
know  then  the  appearance  of  a  group  of  Mexicans  in  any 
of  the  border  towns  when  a  Texas  ranger  looms  above 
the  horizon.  Mexicans  are  an  emotional  people,  but 
there  is  no  emotion  quite  so  strongly  implanted  within 
their  coffee-colored  bosoms  as  the  fear  of  the  men  whom 
the  Texans  have  chosen  to  uphold  law  and  order.  The 
average  Mexican  will  believe  anything  told  to  him. 

At  Columbus,  N.  M.,  some  oil  cars  were  drawn  up 
on  the  track  to  be  used  for  the  transportation  of  water. 
The  Mexicans  were  informed  the  cars  were  to  be  filled 
with  American  soldiers  and  sent  across  the  line  in  order 
that  Mexicans  might  be  massacred.  Why  they  figured 
that  American  troops,  if  they  wished  to  go  across  the  line, 
wouldn't  do  so  in  the  usual  manner  I  am  unable  to  say, 
other  than  that,  with  them,  hearsay  is  fact.  Their  leaders 
have  likewise  imparted  to  them  that  if  the  State  of  Texas, 
with  its  fearsome  rangers,  were  removed  they  would  be 
able  to  whip  the  United  States,  so  they  have  adhered 
religiously  to  this  belief  also.  But  their  respect  for  these 
gentlemen  is  better  founded  than  their  other  convictions. 

The  story  related  of  the  report  made  by  two  rangers 
to  their  captain  gives  an  idea  of  the  manner  in  which 
they  handle  these  people.  "We  met  two  Mexicans  on 
the  road,"  it  read,  "but  did  not  have  time  to  bury  them." 

176 


Looming  above  the  horizon. 


Getting  the  Range.  177 

"They  are  the  most  cold-blooded  bunch  of  persons 
in  the  world,"  said  an  El  Pasoan  in  speaking  to  me  of  the 
rangers.  "They  have  no  regard  for  human  life  what- 
ever, and  it's  because  of  this  that  Mexicans  are  in  such 
deadly  fear  of  them.  Whenever  they  arrest  one  of  the 
greasers  they  rarely  disarm  him,  and  allow  him  every 
opportunity  to  get  away.  I  asked  one  the  reason  for 
this  once  and  he  replied,  They  might  try  to  start  some- 
thing if  we  leave  their  arms  on  them,  and  a  dead  Mexican 
is  always  a  lot  less  trouble  than  a  live  one.  We  would 
have  to  kill  'em  in  self-defense.'  " 

I  heard  other  tales  of  their  cruelty.  A  young  Mexi- 
can in  Shafter  was  shot  and  badly  wounded.  The  only 
person  present  with  him  at.  the  time  and  who  knew  any- 
thing about  it  was  his  father.  The  rangers  wished  to  find 
out  who  was  responsible.  The  father  refused  to  tell. 
Mexicans  resemble  Indians  greatly  in  that  they  prefer  to 
right  their  own  wrongs  rather  than  resort  to  legal  pro- 
cedure. 

"I'll  find  out  whether  you'll  tell  or  not,"  the  ranger 
is  reported  to  have  said,  and  raised  up  on  his  toes  in  order 
to  get  more  force  into  the  blow.  He  brought  down  the 
butt  of  his  revolver  on  the  unfortunate  man's  head.  The 
silent  parent  was  nearly  killed,  but  this  was  the  only  por- 
tion of  the  desired  result  obtained.  He  remained  as  clam- 
like  as  ever  and  was  thrown  into  jail  in  order  that  he 
might  ponder  over  the  request  which  had  been  made  of 
him.  Later,  through  the  influence  of  a  doctor  who  upon 
dressing  his  wounds,  ascertained  that  he  was  imprisoned, 
not  because  he  had  committed  any  crime  but  for  being 
ignorant  concerning  one  which  had  been  committed,  he 
was  released. 


178  "Along  the  Rio  Grande 

"Shortly  after  that,"  continued  my  source  of  in- 
formation, "we  requested  all  Texas  rangers  to  leave  Shaf- 
ter.  We  consider  the  greasers  good  citizens  and  efficient 
workers  there  and  we  didn't  care  to  have  them  contin- 
ually shot  up  for  the  amusement  of  these  ranger  fellows. 
Shafter  is  sixty  miles  from  the  nearest  railroad  station, 
Marfa,  and  it  is  too  difficult  to  replace  labor  of  their  qual- 
ity for  us  not  to  exercise  some  concern  about  the  manner 
in  which  they  are  treated." 

"One  of  the  principal  reasons  for  our  continual 
trouble  with  Mexico,1'  I  heard  another  person  say,  "is 
because  of  the  brutality  they  endure  at  the  hands  of 
the  rangers  and  persons  who  have  adopted  ranger  meth- 
ods. A  ranger  can  shoot  a  poor  peon  with  im- 
punity, and  he  is  scarcely  asked  even  to  put  in  the  usual 
plea  of  self-defense,  which  is  as  a  general  rule  an  untrue 
one  anyway.  No  race,  however  ignorant  or  down-trod- 
den, is  going  to  submit  to  this  for  long  without  feeling 
an  overwhelming  sentiment,  not  only  against  the  rangers 
themselves,  but  against  the  race  from  which  they  come. 
They're  human,  just  like  anybody  else,  and  even  though 
their  lives  aren't  the  most  pleasant  possible,  they  prefer 
to  have  them  ended  in  the  natural  way." 

One  will  find  just  as  many  persons,  however,  who 
have  only  the  highest  praise  for  the  rangers  and  the 
work  they  do,  and  I  am  inclined  to  number  myself  among 
them.  Rangers  are  only  cold-blooded,  they  maintain, 
where  Mexicans  are  concerned,  and  this  solely  because 
they  have  learned  it  is  the  one  manner  in  which  they 
can  be  properly  handled.  In  all  the  border  towns  one 
finds  the  percentage  of  Mexicans  far  greater  than  that  of 
Americans.  In  Texas  there  are  234,000  Mexicans,  in 


Getting  the  Range.  179 

New  Mexico  22,000  and  52,000  in  Arizona.  The  only 
thing  that  Mexicans  appreciate  is  force  and  unless  they 
were  kept  by  the  rangers  in  this  constant  state  of  fear 
it  would  be  impossible  to  handle  them,  as  throughout 
the  State  of  Texas  there  are  only  seventy-five  of  these 
police,  four  companies  in  all. 

There  is  just  as  much  romance  and  mystery  con- 
nected with  their  lives  as  there  is  with  those  of  the 
Northwest  Mounted  Police,  and  for  this  reason  it  has 
always  somewhat  surprised  me  that  no  one  has  seen  in 
them  the  possibilities  for  motion  picture  productions. 
Their  pay  is  small,  $40  a  month  being  their  recompense, 
and  their  hours  of  duty  are  not  hampered  by  complica- 
tions— they  work  twenty-four  out  of  twenty-four.  It 
can  be  seen  from  this  that  the  majority  of  those  in  the 
ranks  are  not  there  because  they  have  deemed  it  an 
easy  method  of  earning  one's  living.  It  is  the  spirit  of 
adventure  and  the  desire  for  excitement  that  in  the  main 
is  the  moving  impulse.  Some  have  incomes  of  their  own 
to  render  them  independent  of  the  pay  allowed  them  by 
the  State.  It  would  be  a  simple  matter  for  Texas  to 
enlarge  the  body  if  it  wished.  There  are  many  who  would 
like  to  join,  but  are  refused  because  no  more  are  desired. 
It  is  not  hard  to  distinguish  them,  whether  one  happens  to 
have  been  favored  with  an  introduction  or  not.  One 
glance  at  their  sombrero  hat  and  their  Colt's  .45  slung 
from  a  cartridge  belt  filled  with  their  chief  arguments  is 
enough. 

They  seem  to  be  possessed  of  a  rare  faculty  of  being 

nd  wherever  trouble  arises.     Part  of  this  is  largely 

due  ao  doubt  to  luck,  but  more,  I  think,  to  the  fact  that 

rangers,  even  while  indulging  in  an  apparently  idle  con- 


180  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

versation,  are  not  allowing  moss  to  grow  on  their  brains. 
They  lose  little  time  in  making  for  that  part  of  the  coun- 
try where  chance  clues  have  told  them  something  is 
"liable  to  be  pulled  off." 

There  are  no  better  trail  finders  nor  handier  men 
with  their  guns  in  the  South.  At  a  hundred  yards  or 
more  a  man  is  invariably  dead  if  a  ranger  judges  his  life 
a  burden  on  the  community.  Outside  of  the  realms  of 
fiction  there  are  few  men  able  with  a  revolver  to  hit  a 
quarter  thrown  up  in  the  air,  but  there  are  more  capable 
of  punishing  Uncle  Sam's  currency  in  this  fashion  among 
the  rangers  than  in  the  entire  remainder  of  the  Texas 
population.  As  a  rule  they  are  natural  detectives.  Very 
small  clues  indeed  frequently  result  in  their  solving  the 
cases  upon  which  they  are  working.  An  instance  of  this 
was  told  me  by  John  Kelly  in  Douglas,  Ariz. 

Kelly  was  a  ranger,  and  although  he  no  longer  holds 
his  commission  as  such,  his  thoughts  still  live  in  the  days 
when  he  was  employed  by  the  State. 

"I  used  to  be  stationed  at  Ysleta  years  ago,"  he  said, 
biting  of!  a  chew  of  plug  cut,  "when  there  wasn't  any 
railroads  comin'  into  El  Paso,  and  when  all  freight  had 
to  be  hauled  in  'Chihuahua  trains,'  which  is  the  same  as 
prairie  schooners,  all  the  way  from  San  Antonio.  There 
used  to  be  a  lot  of  smugglin'  goin'  on  along  the  Rio 
Grande,  and  it  was  up  to  us  to  keep  the  greasers  and 
outlaws  from  doin'  it.  One  time  we  caught  a  gang  with 
$500  worth  of  stuff."  He  spit  contemplatively  and 
looked  at  me  reflectively  to  see  whether  I  was  impressed 
with  the  size  of  the  amount. 

"One  time  a  fellow  named  Jem  Lafferty  killed  the 
marshal  at  Ysleta.  He  shot  him  through  the  neck.  We 


It  is  not  difficult  to  distinguish  a  Ranger. 


Getting  the  Range  181 

found  the  marshal's  body  lying  on  the  ground  and  near 
It  was  a  little  piece  of  a  bandana,  clipped  off  by  a  bullet. 
We  saved  it  and  hunted  for  Jem.  It  took  us  some  time, 
but  we  got  him.  He  was  still  a-wearin'  of  the  handker- 
chief around  his  neck.  The  bit  we  had  fitted  into  the 
part  lost  out  of  his.  He  was  convicted  and  sentenced  to 
nine  years  in  the  pen.  Later  he  killed  another  guy  and 
got  seventy- five  years.  He  was  about  50  then  and  never 
lived  his  sentence  out." 

The  rangers  have  some  sort  of 'signal  unknown  to 
any  but  the  elect.  "There  was  a  dance  being  held  in 
the  hall  at  Ysleta,"  one  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  town 
informed  me,  "and  several  of  the  rangers  were  there. 
They  usually  turn  up  at  such  functions,  for  their  reputa- 
tion for  bravery  and  their  invariable  good  looks  make 
them  extremely  popular  with  the  fair  sex.  Suddenly 
they  all  stopped  and  made  a  dive  for  their  guns,  which 
they  had  checked  at  the  door.  None  of  the  rest  of  us 
had  heard  a  thing,  but  in  a  minute  they  had  disappeared 
and  were  off  for  the  river.  They  returned  after  a  while 
and  we  asked  what  had  happened,  but,  as  always,  they 
refused  to  say  anything  concerning  their  work.  Some 
one  told  me  later  that  they  had  shot  some  Mexicans 
trying  to  rustle  cattle  and  buried  them  where  they  fell, 
but  the  only  thing  on  which  they  based  their  story  was 
three  newly-dug  graves." 

Although  they  are  good  natured  and  forbearing,  as 
a  rule,  where  white  people  are  concerned,  it  is  unwise 
for  a  person  to  rely  too  much  on  this  characteristic.  It 
is  a  point  of  honor  with  them  to  get  any  one  who  has 
ever  killed  a  ranger.  The  person  sought  would  save  him- 
self a  great  deal  of  mental  strain  by  choosing  the  "Dutch 


182  Along  the  Rio  Gratidt 

method"  out — that  of  suicide  when  such  is  the  case — 
for  his  destination  is  invariably  the  same.  Small  matters 
like  extradition  papers  bother  them  not  in  the  least,  for 
if  they  desire  a  person  they  will  arrest — or  shoot — him 
whether  he  is  in  Texas,  Wyoming,  Mexico  or  way  sta- 
tions. 

He  is  a  person  one  does  not  associate  with  trifling, 
but  if  trifling  is  essential  to  your  happiness — let  the 
ranger  do  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
The  Lady  of  the  Army. 

Sh!  Ever  since  the  New  York  troops  went  into 
their  encampments  at  Pharr,  McAllen  and  Mission  there 
had  been  a  lady  present  in  their  midst.  No  attempt  was 
made  to  conceal  her  existence,  and  whenever  any  men- 
tion was  made  of  her  any  of  the  enlisted  men  would 
frankly  admit  a  warm  acquaintance.  The  suspense  was 
getting  awful — her  name  is  Dame  Rumor.  I  found  no 
place  in  my  travels  along  the  border  where  she  seemed 
to  be  quite  so  popular  as  in  the  ranks  of  the  Seventh 
Regiment,  for  the  young  gentlemen  of  that  organization 
were  perhaps  a  little  keener  to  return  to  their  professions 
than  the  others,  and  there  was  constantly  some  new 
rumor  being  circulated  around  the  camp  as  to  when  they 
would  be  ordered  back. 

The  enlisted  man  was  supposed  to  know  little  about 
the  doings  and  plans  of  the  army  other  than  what  he 
was  told,  and  to  their  regret  almost  nothing  at  all  was  told 
them.  As  a  result  millions  of  unofficial  rumors  were  flying 
from  one  tent  to  another,  having  their  birth  in  many  and 
varied  ways. 

"There  are  not  as  many  rumors  now  as  there  were 
the  first  few  days  we  were  down  here,"  one  of  the  pri- 
vates told  me  when  I  commented  on  it.  "There  was  a 
new  one  every  five  minutes  then."  I  had  not  been  there 
for  a  very  long  time  then,  but  my  short  observation  had 

183 


184  'Along  the  Rio  Grande 

not  led  me  to  think  the  average  had  greatly  been  dimin- 
ished in  the  interim. 

It  was  not  so  long  before  that  the  word  was  being 
passed  from  one  company  street  to  the  other  for  the 
cook  details  to  "go  and  get  your  meat."  By  the  time 
the  order  reached  Company  K,  a  few  hundred  yards 
farther  along,  a  wild  cheering  broke  out.  The  order 
had  been  twisted  into  "We're  going  home  next  week." 
There  hadn't  been  such  excitement  in  the  regiment  during 
all  the  long,  weary  hours  they  had  been  down  there.  It 
was  not  hard  to  see  from  this  how,  as  a  general  rule,  much 
of  the  news  that  was  breezed  about  camp  in  this  manner 
possessed  almost  any  virtue  except  accuracy;  but  its  lack 
of. this  necessary  quality  didn't  seem  to  interfere  in  any 
way  with  the  speed  with  which  it  traveled  nor  in  the  im- 
plicit and  childlike  faith  placed  in  it.  Their  very  confi- 
dence in  what  they  had  heard  caused  the  correspondents 
in  this  town  many  weary  chases  in  an  attempt  to  verify 
some  startling  information. 

In  Company  K,  which  was  fairly  near  the  center  of 
the  regimental  encampments,  and  hence  was  favorably 
located  for  the  circulation  of  gossip,  resided  a  cook  pos- 
sessed of  a  cunning  deep  and  low.  His  name  was  Carroll 
Winchester.  A  stranger  could  quite  easily  identify  him  by 
his  handsome  black  mustache  and  the  fact  that  his  sole 
articles  of  attire  were  a  pair  of  overalls,  socks  and  shoes, 
which  left  ample  space  for  the  tanning  influence  of  the 
sun.  Winchester  a  few  weeks  before  started  what  he 
called  a  rumor  factory.  As  he  mused  over  the  onions  or 
potatoes  he  would  invent  some  story  and  start  it  on  its  way 
with  the  assistance  of  the  slavish  cook  detail  which  hap- 
pened to  be  assigned  to  help  him  on  the  day.  Then  he 


The  Lady  of  the  Army  185 

waited  to  see  how  great  an  interval  would  be  required  for 
the  rumor  to  return  again  to  its  maker.  It  never  took 
long  for  it  to  pass  completely  through  the  regiment  sev- 
eral times.  Like  a  good  little  rumor,  it  always  came  home 
before  evening.  Once  within  half  an  hour  after  he  had 
originated  a  piece  of  scandal  Winchester  had  it  poured 
forth  into  his  ear  with  bated  breath  by  a  man  from  an- 
other regiment. 

"Yes,"  said  Winchester  when  his  informant  had  fin- 
ished, "I  have  heard  that  before." 

In  this  same  company  for  which  Winchester  pre- 
pared the  meals  a  rumor  book  was  kept  for  some  time, 
until  it  became  a  hopeless  task  to  make  any  attempt  to 
write  down  in  it  a  portion  of  all  that  was  heard.  A  glance 
over  it  would  show  that,  while  most  of  the  entries  con- 
cern the  date  of  the  return  home,  by  no  means  all  of  them 
are  of  that  nature: 

"It  is  rumored  that  Private  Swain  is  using  tent  No. 
11  as  a  private  office  and  needs  a  secretary  to  care  for 
his  mails,"  says  the  first  item  in  the  record.  Reference 
was  made,  it  might  be  explained,  to  the  great  number  of 
missives  received  by  Mr.  Swain  in  feminine  handwriting. 

From  day  to  day  appeared  others,  most  of  them  as 
usual  incorrect,  such  as  "it  is  rumored  that  the  Squadron 
A  refused  to  take  the  oath";  "that  a  captain  of  the 
Seventy-first  and  a  mule  of  the  same  were  shot  by  a  sen- 
tinel on  post  for  refusal  to  halt  when  challenged";  "that 
we  will  be  in  New  York  by  August  10,  1916";  "that  we 
are  to  have  cots  and  floors  in  the  tents  some  time"  (the 
cots  finally  arrived) ;  "that  the  rookies  are  going  to  give  us 
proper  refreshments  with  the  entertainments  which  they 
are  to  provide";  "that  all  married  men  are  to  go  home  on 


186  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

furlough";  "that  we  are  to  leave  the  border  at  4  A.  M., 
July  12";  "that  it  rained  about  2  this  morning"  (this 
was  slightly  sarcastic,  as  that  day  the  only  comfortable 
method  of  progression  about  camp  was  in  a  boat) ;  "posi- 
tively heard  (on  July  12)  by  wireless  operator  of  the 
Signal  Corps  that  the  Seventh  Regiment  will  start  Sat- 
urday to  escort  General  Pershing  to  the  border";  "that 
we  will  spend  one  week  on  the  border  in  pup  tents,  return 
to  camp  in  McAllen  until  August  25,  then  go  100  miles 
east  of  El  Paso  until  October  1,  and  then  back  to  New 
York";  "it  is  rumored  that  the  Squadron  A  men  will 
shortly  be  disbanded  to  receive  commissions";  "that  our 
camp  is  to  be  turned  at  some  future  date  into  an  army 
post  for  the  regulars";  "that  the  Second  Artillery  band 
wishes  to  be  transferred  to  the  Seventh"  (this  rumor  did 
not  originate  with  the  artillery) ;  "that  the  chaplain's 
laundry  was  delayed  about  three  weeks  and  when  it  finally 
did  return  it  contained  woman's  clothing."  And  then 
appeared  the  concluding  item,  after  which  the  rumor  book 
was  given  up  as  a  hopeless  proposition,  "It  is  rumored 
that  we  go  home  this  week." 

When  other  regiments  went  out  on  hikes  from  Mc- 
Allen to  other  points  rumors  would  soon  be  floating 
around  the  Seventh  Regiment  camp  of  startling  cas- 
ualities. 

"Men  are  dropping  out  like  flies,"  I  was  told  of  the 
Seventy-first,  which  was  on  its  weary  way  to  Mission 
and  all  points  west.  "There  have  been  several  deaths 
in  the  Third,"  another  informed  me  a  short  while  after 
the  latter  had  arrived  in  McAllen.  Lurid  details  were 
furnished  in  each  instance  and  the  impression  was  vig- 
orously conveyed  to  me  that  the  extermination  of  both 


Th*  Lady  of  the  Army  187 

these  noble  bodies  of  men  was  but  a  matter  of  a  few 
days  if  their  terrible  march  continued.  I  hurried  to  the 
Third  headquarters,  about  half  a  mile  from  the  Seventh. 
I  found  more  than  500  "dog  tents"  pitched  out  in  a  field 
which  had  been  prepared  for  the  purpose.  Men  were 
proceeding  in  the  usual  manner,  as  if  nothing  out  of  the 
ordinary  had  happened,  and  I  even  failed  to  observe  on 
the  faces  of  the  men  who  passed  the  signs  of  fatigue 
which  I  expected  might  be  there  after  their  march. 

"Where  are  the  dead  men?  "  I  asked  at  headquarters, 
which  consisted  of  a  tent  larger  than  the  others. 

"There  aren't  any,"  was  the  response.  "One  man 
who  was  taken  sick  before  we  started  came  in  the  ambu- 
lance, but  it  will  be  a  long  time  before  he  dies."  I  pro- 
ceeded to  the  ambulances.  No  corpses  were  to  be  hidden 
from  me;  I  was  determined. 

"How  many  passed  out  on  the  march?"  I  queried 
the  driver. 

"None,"  he  said,  and  told  me  of  the  man  of  whom 
I  had  already  heard.  After  this  I  phoned  to  Mission  and 
found  that  but  a  few  of  the  Seventy-first  had  been  un- 
able to  continue,  and  most  of  them  were  bothered  only 
with  foot  trouble.  The  other  rumors  which  reached  my 
ears  had  much  in  common  with  these,  but  they  all  had 
one  merit — they  furnished  the  militiamen  with  enter- 
tainment and  interest. 

The  most  convincing  of  recent  rumors  was  on  Au- 
gust 30.  Three  regiments  of  New  York  troops  were  to 
be  ordered  home.  It  was  not  long  before  some  one  was 
discovered  with  information  from  a  confidential  but  au- 
thoritative source  that  the  Seventh  was  to  be  one  of 
the  chosen  three.  The  logic  was  indisputable — so  was 


188  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

the  excitement.  The  Seventh  had  been  the  first  of  the 
New  York  contingent  to  reach  the  region  misnamed 
"God's  Country."  More  of  their  number  had  pressing 
business  at  home  suffering  more  each  day  by  their  con- 
tinued absence.  Yes,  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  they 
were  to  go  home.  When  word  came  from  General  Fun- 
ston  that  the  Seventy-first,  Third  and  Fourteenth  were 
the  ones  elected  the  gloom  could  have  been  cut  with  a 
knife. 

"Rumors,"  I  heard  one  man  say  in  a  depressed 
voice,  "are  no  good  unless  they  are  bad,  and  then  they're 
no  good.  If  they  are  good  they're  usually  untrue,  and 
then  you  feel  worse  after  you  find  out  what's  really  so 
than  you  did  at  first.  If  they're  bad  they  make  you  ill 
anyway.  From  now  on  I'm  going  to  be  on  the  rumor 
wagon,  and  if  any  one  tries  to  tell  me  one  I'll  shoot  him 
on  sight." 

But  on  the  morrow  he  would  have  a  new  morsel  to 
circulate,  one  that  was  authoritative  and  from  a  confi- 
dential source. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
The  Songs  of  the  Seventh. 

Upon  the  average  human  a  shower  bath  has  the 
same  effect  as  the  sound  of  running  water  upon  a  canary 
— it  makes  him  sing.  The  Seventh  possesses  no  shower 
baths  nor  yet  is  it  canarylike,  able  to  listen  to  the  sound 
of  running  water.  But  life  upon  the  border  seemed  to  have 
produced  the  same  result — a  deal  of  carolling.  If  mo- 
bilization succeeded  in  doing  nothing  else  for  our  men  it 
at  least  supplied  them  with  a  good  coat  of  tan  and  de- 
veloped their  lung  power  to  a  remarkable  extent.  At 
almost  any  time  during  the  sweltering  day  or  the  balmy 
evenings  their  voices  could  be  heard  uplifted  in  song. 

Like  the  cowboy,  the  militiamen  sung  ballads 
that  told  of  their  griefs  as  well  as  their  joys — although 
the  latter  were  chiefly  conspicuous  by  their  infrequency; 
of  their  hardships  and  of  their  desire  to  return  once  more 
to  their  homes.  Most  of  those  for  which  youthful  poets 
in  the  Seventh  are  responsible  were  not  composed  to  win 
smiles  of  approval  from  their  officers.  Song  is  a  form 
of  outlet  for  repressed  feelings,  and  the  men  of  the  Sev- 
enth felt  the  strongest  on  the  subject  of  their  detention 
on  the  border.  In  addition  to  that,  there  is  always  enough 
of  the  child  remaining  even  in  men  approaching  the 
thirties  to  revel  in  "going  out  behind  the  barn  to  smoke." 
Doggerel  voicing  rebellion  against  the  discipline  and  hard- 

189 


190  'Along  the  Rio  Grande 

ships  to  which  they  were  subject  is  the  result.  I  doubt 
if  they  felt  as  deeply  as  the  verses  would  lead  one  to 
suspect,  but  in  any  event  the  muse  became  a  safety 
valve  to  their  emotions.  Following  is  the  first  which  I 
heard  at  McAllen: 

When  we  get  back  from  Mexico, 

When  we  get  back  from  war; 
The  National  Guard  can  go  to  hell; 

We  won't  enlist  no  more. 
We'll  take  a  bath  and  change  our  clothes, 

And  swear  before  the  Lord, 
To  emigrate  to  Michigan 

And  vote  for  Henry  Ford. 

When  they  started  out  for  the  land  of  cactus  they 
were  a  trifle  more  enthusiastic.  There  issued  forth  from 
the  trains  filled  with  the  men  of  the  Seventh  the  well 
used  tune  of  "Tipperary,"  with  words  somewhat  altered. 
If  you  were  within  a  radius  of  four  miles  of  the  cars  you 
could  hear: 

It's  a  long,  long  way  to  capture  Villa; 

It's  a  long  way  to  go; 
It's  a  long  way  across  the  border 

Where  the  dirty  greasers  grow; 
So  it's  good-by  to  dear  old  Broadway, 

Hello,  Mexico; 
It's  a  long,  long  way  to  capture  Villa, 

But  that's  where  we'll  go. 

But  after  they  had  dug  a  few  ditches,  broken  in 
unruly  mules  and  tried  their  hand  at  guard  duty  for 
several  nights  their  patriotism  began  to  wane.  The  edge 
of  their  keen  desire  to  capture  the  flighty  bandit  became 


Songs  of  the  Seventh  191 

somewhat  blunted.     This  is  how  the  life  impressed  a 
soldierly  poet  of  Company  K : 

We've  been  upon  the  border  for  a  couple  of  months  or  so; 
We're  getting  mighty  tired,  and  we  think  it's  time  to  go; 
We've  dug  in  the  mud  and  laid  the  roads,  and  now  we'd  like  to  know 
When  we'll  go  marching  home. 

To  hell,  to  hell  with  dear  old  Texas, 
To  hell,  to  hell  with  all  the  cactus, 
To  hell,  to  hell  with  all  the  "Mexs". 
Three  cheers  for  New  York  town! 

Our  home  is  Camp  McAlIen,  and  we're  very  happy  here; 
But  we  haven't  any  sweethearts,  and  we  haven't  any  beer; 
We  haven't  any  money,  and  we'd  really  like  to  hear 
When  we  go  marching  home. 

(Chorus,  Please.) 

The  wop  who  laid  the  pavement,  the  mick  who  builds  the  pike, 
Both  get  their  union  wages — if  they  don't  they  call  a  strike; 
Half  a  dollar  to  the  soldiers,  and  no  matter  what  they  like, 
They  still  go  marching  on. 

(Chorus.) 

We  signed  enlistment  papers  and  they  told  us  with  a  smile, 
"You  may  go  down  to  Mexico,  but  only  for  a  while"; 
They  promised  us  all  luxuries  and  said  we'd  live  in  style 
Just  the  way  we  do  at  home. 

(Chorus  Once  Again.) 

We  found  the  thorny  cactus,  the  scorpion  and  the  toads, 
Tarantulas  and  centipedes  and  rattlesnakes  in  loads; 
The  flies  and  ants  and  other  bugs  infested  our  abodes. 
Good  Lord,  let  us  go  home. 

(Repeat  on  the  Chorus.) 
Walking  by  Company  K  street  one  day  I  glanced  up 


192  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

it  to  see  a  private  seated  in  the  greatest  luxury  in  one 
of  those  reclining  canvas  'chairs  of  which  nearly  every 
tent  possesses  one.  His  nose  was  slightly  tilted  toward 
the  heavens  and  from  his  throat  issued  a  song  which  had 
attained  more  or  less  popularity  with  the  Seventh  and 
other  infantry  regiments. 

The  infantry,  the  infantry, 

With  the  dirt  behind  their  ears; 
The  infantry,  the  infantry, 

Who  lap  up  all  the  beers. 
The  cavalry,  artillery 

And  the  blooming  engineers, 
Couldn't  make  the  infantry 

In  a  hundred  thousand  years. 

Of  course,  it  is  quite  possible  that  the  information 
conveyed  in  this  poem  is  not  strictly  fact,  but,  as  Matthew 
Prior  tells  us,  "Odds  life!  Must  one  swear  to  the  truth 
of  a  song?" 

Naturally  the  Seventh  exerted  its  energies  on  songs 
other  than  the  ones  which  have  originated  in  their  midst. 
Those  old-time  favorites,  such  as  "Sweet  Adeline,"  with 
a  human  bullfrog  repeating  ever  and  anon  with  deep 
sympathy  the  last  few  words,  "On  the  Road  to  Manda- 
lay."  "Some  folks  (apparently  possessed  of  exceedingly 
bad  judgment)  say  that  a  nigger  won't  steal,"  and 
many  more  that  helped  to  brighten  their  college 
years  and  bring  sighs  to  fair  listening  maidens,  floated 
often  on  the  Texas  breeze  in  strong  competition  with 
burros  whose  lungs  seemed  to  be  in  constant  need  of 
oiling. 

After  noticing  the  frequency  with  which  their  efforts 
were  directed  toward  vocal  work  I  stopped  a  couple  of 


'Songs  of  the  "Seventh  193 

militiamen.  "You  can't  be  having  such  a  bad  time  down 
here,  as  a  lot  of  you  try  to  tell  me,"  I  said,  "or  you 
wouldn't  be  singing  so  much.11  The  shorter  one  turned 
to  me  with  gloom-filled  eyes,  and  1  knew  that  what  he 
said  came  from  the  heart. 

"We  are  saddest,"  he  murmured,  "when  we  sing." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Both  Sides  of  the  Army  Pill.  I 

Truly  the  imagination  of  the  militia  man  is  a  won- 
drous thing.  I  once  knew  an  elderly  gentleman  who  had 
such  a  one.  He  was  a  Civil  War  veteran,  and  during 
some  period  in  his  life  he  had  obtained  a  copy  of  the 
memoirs  of  another  old  warrior.  Not  long  afterward  the 
experiences  became  his.  He  recounted  them  so  many 
times  that  he  really  believed  he  had  undergone  the  ad- 
ventures himself.  One  day  a  friend  of  his  with  an  exact 
turn  of  mind  and  a  long  memory  proved  that  the  story 
he  had  just  related  was  impossible,  for  he  would  have 
had  to  be  present  in  two  places  at  the  same  time.  I  have 
seldom  seen  such  amazement  as  that  registered  on  his 
face.  So  convinced  had  he  become  of  the  authenticity 
of  his  oft-repeated  tales  that  I  doubt  whether  even  now 
he  is  able  to  account  for  the  paradox  which  was  pointed 
out  to  him. 

The  National  Guard  on  the  border  was  afflicted 
with  much  the  same  disease,  particularly  where  stories 
of  the  hospital  were  concerned.  They  had  told  certain 
tales  of  its  horrors  so  long  that  they  were  doubtless  in 
time  certain  they  were  true.  Many  of  them,  heard  from 
some  other  person,  they  believed  to  be  events  in  their 
own  hectic  careers.  It  wasn't  due  to  a  desire  wilfully  to 
misinform  any  one — it  was  just  an  affliction  of  too  much 
imagination,  like  my  friend,  the  veteran. 

Upon  my  arrival  among  the  New  York  troops  my 

104 


Both  Sides  of  the  Army  Pill  195 

cars  were  filled  with  the  gruesome  details  of  the  inade- 
quacy of  the  military  hospitals.  I  was  led  to  believe  that 
they  had  been  devised  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  heap 
additional  torture  upon  men  whom  the  Government  had 
brought  South  solely  for  an  orgy  of  pain. 

A  red-headed  fighter,  whom  I  found  in  one  of  the 
infantry  tents  changing  his  clothes  preparatory  to  ap- 
pearing at  "retreat,"  which  is  held  every  day  at  5.30, 
regardless  of  how  the  soldiers  feel  about  it,  expressed 
himself  in  vehement  language  to  me. 

"No  matter  what's  the  matter  with  you,"  he  said, 
"they  hand  you  out  pills  for  stomach  trouble.  If  you 
break  your  back  they  give  you  one  pill  every  hour; 
if  you've  got  appendicitis,  it's  more  pills;  pills 
again  for  typhoid  and  pills  if  you  get  cactus  in  your  feet. 
The  whole  medical  department  is  a  bunch  of  pills.  A 
fellow  from  Squadron  A  in  the  cavalry  broke  his  nose. 
The  hospital  didn't  have  any  nose  splints.  He  had  to 
have  it  broken  over  again  three  times  afterward  to  get 
it  fixed  right.  A  man  from  the  Seventh  complained  of 
having  stomach  trouble.  He  went  to  the  doctor.  The 
orderly  handed  him  out  some  Allen's  Foot  Ease  and  told 
him  to  take  it.  It  was  the  one  thing  they  had  besides 
the  pills,  I  guess,  and  they  wanted  to  see  how  it  would 
work.  It  didn't  kill  him,  so  they  haven't  tried  it  again. 
They  haven't  got  any  surgical  instruments  up  there.  All 
of  the  officers'  tents  have  board  floors,"  he  added,  with 
increasing  bitterness,  "but  they  haven't  had  time  to  put 
them  down  in  the  hospital  tents  yet. 

"This  isn't  enough,  so  once  they  get  you  in  they 
starve  you  to  death.  And  now,"  he  said,  giving  his 
cartridge  belt  a  last  savage  yank  and  picking  up  his  car- 


196  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

bine  from  the  rack,  "I'm  going  out  to  have  the  captain 
ask  me  why  my  shoes  aren't  shined." 

"Wait  just  a  minute  before  you  go.  Have  you  ever 
been  confined  to  the  hospital? "  I  asked. 

"No,"  he  replied.  "I'm  unprejudiced."  He  hur- 
ried off. 

The  next  day  I  went  to  the  hospital  myself,  not  as 
a  patient,  but  as  an  investigator  of  crime. 

At  6.5  0  A.  M.  sick  call  is  sounded.  An  acquaintance 
told  me  the  reason  for  having  it  after  breakfast  in  this 
fashion  is  because  the  "food  handed  out  in  the  morning 
is  enough  to  make  any  one  ill,  and  they  wish  a  few 
patients  to  practice  on."  At  this  hour  any  one  disabled 
reports  to  his  captain  and  he  is  sent  to  the  regimental  hos- 
pital for  examination.  It  is  the  purpose  here  not  to  keep 
men  whose  condition  indicates  they  will  be  confined  for 
more  than  forty-eight  hours.  Cases  requiring  several 
days  are  assigned  to  the  field  hospital.  Those  more  seri- 
ous, requiring  attention  for  ten  days  or  more,  are  taken 
to  the  base  hospital  at  San  Antonio. 

The  regimental  hospital  of  the  Seventh,  which  was 
typical,  was  in  charge  of  a  major,  three  captains,  a  lieu- 
tenanc,  and  had  twenty-four  orderlies.  It  consisted  of  only 
two  tents,  one  of  which  was  used  as  the  office  and  to 
store  all  medical  supplies,  and  the  other  for  the  patients. 
Those  who  had  reported  were  examined  and  the  diagnosis 
delivered  to  the  captain,  together  with  data  concerning 
the  disposition  to  be  made  of  them.  There  are  three 
forms  of  this  disposition — "light  duty,"  "sick  in  quarters" 
and  "sick  in  hospital."  In  the  first  instance  they  are 
relieved  from  all  heavy  work  and  in  the  others  they  are 
freed  entirely  of  the  army  routine.  If  the  case  is  one 


'The  whole  medical  department  is  a  bunch  of  pills, 


Both  Sides  of  th*  Army  Pill  197 

for  the  field  hospital  he  is  brought  there  with  the  report 
of  the  regimental  medical  department.  They,  in  turn, 
decide  whether  or  not  he  is  to  be  transferred  to  San 
Antonio. 

"Within  twenty-four  hours  a  man  taken  sick  can  be 
examined  and  turned  over  to  the  base  hospital  at  San 
Antonio,"  an  officer  of  the  First  Field  Hospital  told  me. 
"Wherever  possible,  cases  requiring  operation  are  trans- 
ported there,  but  when  immediate  attention  is  required 
we  have  an  operating  table  and  can  handle  it.  Just  a 
short  time  ago  we  performed  a  successful  operation  on 
a  patient  suffering  from  acute  appendicitis  and  another 
was  a  herniotomy. 

"The  First  Field  Hospital  Corps,"  he  continued, 
"consists  of  three  wards,  each  of  which  has  four  units, 
or  tents,  containing  four  cots  apiece.  This  gives  us  a 
capacity  of  forty-eight.  We  have  six  officers,  including 
a  major,  two  captains,  three  lieutenants  and  sixty-four 
orderlies.  All  of  the  officers  are  New  York  specialists, 
and  as  they  rise  in  rank  are  required  to  pass  a  severe 
medical  examination.  You  can  see  there  is  very  little 
opportunity  for  the  inefficiency  sometimes  complained  of 
by  the  army." 

He  took  me  through  the  three  rows  of  tents  and 
showed  me  the  operating  tent,  those  containing  the  sick 
and  the  kitchen  and  mess  tents.  All  were  scrupulously 
clean  and  possessed  board  floors  and  wire  screenings. 

"Those  who  criticize  this  department,"  he  said,  as 
we  went  through,  "overlook  the  fact  that  the  whole  idea 
in  back  of  the  regimental  and  field  hospitals  is  that  we  are 
mobile  units  and  must  travel  with  the  army.  We  do  not 
pretend  to  take  care  of  serious  cases — San  Antonio  does 


¥08  Along  the  Rio  Grand* 

that.  The  regimental  medical  department  must  be  ready 
to  move  at  an  instant's  notice,  while  we  must  never  be 
more  than  twenty-four  hours  behind  the  troops.  One 
thing  that  renders  our  work  difficult  is  that  many  men 
'fake*  illness  in  order  to  escape  work.  A  record  is  kept 
of  every  patient,  however,  and  if  he  comes  too  often 
to  the  well  without  cause  he  is  extremely  apt  to  suffer 
the  fate  of  +he  proverbial  pitcher. 

"The  men  have  nothing  to  complain  of  in  their 
treatment  here.  The  food  furnished  them  is  light,  but 
purposely  so,  for  a  sick  man  should  not  receive  as  much 
to  eat  as  one  who  is  doing  heavy  work.  Some  of  them 
prefer  to  gorge,  and  when  they  are  not  allowed  to  do  so 
believe  they  are  being  starved." 

He  waved  his  hands  toward  the  cots  containing 
invalids,  pale  looking  in  spite  of  their  tanned  faces,  and 
said:  "Ask  any  of  them/  They  will  tell  you  whether 
what  I  am  saying  is  true  or  not."  He  saved  me  the  trouble 
of  deciding  whether  or  not  it  would  be  making  the  men 
feel  as  if  they  were  freaks  on  exhibition. 

"How  are  you  getting  along?"  he  asked  a  young 
fellow,  who,  I  found  out  later,  was  the  herniotomy  in- 
dividual. The  boy  had  been  taking  a  rather  hollow-eyed 
interest  in  the  conversation.  He  brightened  up  consid- 
erably when  addressed  and  expatiated  at  great 
length  upon  the  treatment  par-excellence  which  he  had 
been  receiving.  Others  responded  in  similar  vein.  As 
evidence  I  did  not  attach  a  superlative  amount  of  im- 
portance to  what  they  said,  since  I  doubted  whether  they 
would  indulge  in  criticism  too  freely  in  the  presence  of 
an  officer,  but  a  careful  examination  of  the  place,  both 
then  and  later,  convinced  me  what  I  had  been  told  was 


Both  Sides  of  the  Army  Pill  199 

authentic.  I  talked  with  them  later  alone,  and  they  re- 
peated to  me  practically  the  same  things.  The  only 
evidence  in  support  of  what  had  been  breathed  in  my 
ear  by  my  red-headed  friend  was  that  in  the  regimental 
hospital  tent  there  was  no  flooring,  although  this  was  not 
the  case  in  the  field. 

However,  before  I  left  I  turned  to  my  guide.  "Do 
you  carry  anything  besides  pills  and  Allen's  Foot  Ease 
in  stock? "  I  asked.  He  pointed  to  a  row  of  bottles  with 
formidable  Latin  names  on  their  exteriors. 

"We're  allowed  twenty  different  drugs,"  he  said, 
"and  whenever  the  supply  in  any  one  begins  to  run  low 
we  put  in  a  requisition  for  more.  It  can  be  obtained 
within  a  day.  There  is  no  reason  at  all  why  we  should 
ever  be  found  without  any  one  of  them." 

I  thanked  him  and  left.  I  hurried  to  my  friend 
of  the  brilliant  locks.  I  told  him  of  the  herniotomy  vic- 
tim's testimony. 

"Humph!"  he  retorted,  "he  was  probably  afraid  if 
he  said  anything  else  they  would  poison  him." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
Baking  on  the  Border. 

Since  visiting  the  different  military  groups  along  the 
border  my  respect  for  that  household  necessity,  the  Staff 
of  Life,  has  risen  tremendously.  A  lover  of  statistics, 
seeing  the  army  bakeries,  would  have  a  perfect  orgy.  It 
would  not  make  much  difference  whether  he  went  to 
merely  the  one  at  Nogales,  Ariz.,  managed  by  Lieutenant 
Francis  W.  Pinches  of  the  First  Connecticut  Infantry, 
which  worked  away  for  the  benefit  of  1 1,000  stomachs  in 
the  Nogales  District,  or  that  in  charge  of  Captain  C.  A. 
Bach,  at  El  Paso,  Texas,  which  didn't  consider  it  any 
trouble  at  all  to  feed  those  in  the  El  Paso  district,  or  that 
in  McAllen,  which  baked  for  the  New  York  division.  At 
any  one,  or  all,  he  would  probably  become  so  full  of 
facts  that  he  would  never  after  be  able  to  eat  a  loaf  with- 
out a  shiver  of  awe  running  up  and  down  his  spine. 

Captain  Bach  was  quite  proud  of  his  outfit  in  El  Paso. 
I  found  him  watching  the  men  removing  the  steaming 
brown  loaves  from  the  three  field  ovens  near  Camp  Con- 
necticut, at  which  the  Connecticut  troops  were  tented. 

"These  are  a  lot  better  than  the  garrison  bakery," 
he  told  me,  "because  the  heat  isn't  so  intense,  and  they 
can  be  allowed  to  cook  slower  and  more  evenly.  The 
field  bread  is  more  compact  and  has  a  thicker  crust,  which 
enables  it  to  be  kept  much  longer,  as  the  moisture  is  held 
better.  Garrison  bread  will  become  dry  after  a  short 
time." 

200 


Baking  on  the  Border  HOI 

"How  much  do  you  turn  out  a  day? "  I  asked.  The 
question  was  simple,  but  Captain  Bach  is  an  enthusiast. 
Statistics  poured  forth  in  an  avalanche. 

"We  make  216  pounds  at  a  baking  in  each  of  the 
three  ovens,"  he  answered;  "that  means  108  loaves 
apiece.  The  field  and  garrison  bakeries  together  use  from 
15,000  to  16,000  pounds  of  flour  a  day.  In  each  of  the 
ovens  there  are  three  chambers,  which  will  hold  seventy 
loaves  apiece.  I've  got  sixty-one  men  working  for  me 
now — a  full  unit — but  when  more  troops  arrive  we  will 
probably  have  to  enlarge  our  equipment. 

"Everything  is  designed  with  a  view  to  moving  at 
an  instant's  notice,  and  if  we  were  ordered  into  Mexico 
this  minute  we  could  take  the  ovens  apart  and  pack  the 
whole  shooting  match  in  a  truck  and  be  on  our  way.  At 
the  first  stop  it  would  not  take  us  more  than  an  hour  to 
have  things  set  up  again  and  baking  under  way.  While 
one  detail  was  at  work  fixing  up  the  stoves  the  others 
would  have  the  mixing  tent  up  and  prepare  the  dough. 
I'll  show  you  what  the  tents  are  like,"  he  added,  with 
pardonable  pride.  We  turned  from  the  sweating  bakers 
and  entered  the  tents  of  khaki  and  wire  screen. 

The  first  was  filled  with  pans  scrupulously  clean, 
moulding  tables  and  dough  troughs.  In  each  of  the  lat- 
ter, he  said,  150  pounds  of  flour  could  be  mixed.  We 
went  into  the  storage  tents  where  the  bread  was  piled  high 
in  racks  and  where,  unlike  many  places  about  the  camps 
not  a  single  fly  could  be  found  decorating  the  landscape. 

We  went  out  into  the  open  once  more  and  watched 
the  men  toiling  away  at  their  tasks.  Neither  the  work  of 
the  bakers  themselves  nor  of  the  man  in  charge  is 
easy.  If  my  opinion  were  asked  as  to  one  of  the 


2^2  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

most  uncomfortable  employments  in  the  land  of  khaki, 
I  would  be  quite  prompt  in  electing  that  of  breadmaker. 
Many  are  assigned  to  the  work.  The  field  bakeries  at 
McAllen,  Pharr  and  Mission,  which  provided  for  19,000 
New  York  troops  at  these  places,  had  nineteen  ovens. 
Forty  men  were  at  work  in  the  first  place,  sixteen  in  the 
second,  while  Pharr  had  seventeen.  Those  who  had 
been  following  the  trials  of  their  absent  boys  on  the 
border  were  almost  convinced  by  this  time,  I  should  judge, 
that  it  was  a  place  where  heat  is  somewhat  extreme.  At 
Camp  Stewart,  about  seven  miles  from  the  heart  of  El 
Paso,  1  have  seen  it  135  degrees  in  the  sun.  It  is  a  waste 
of  energy  to  speak  of  its  being  a  certain  temperature  in 
the  shade,  for  a  person  would  get  heat  prostration  in  his 
anxious  attempts  to  find  such  a  thing.  But  even  under 
the  partial  shelter  of  a  tent  occupied  by  Captain  Deforest 
Chandler  of  the  Signal  Corps  at  Columbus,  the  officers 
one  day  were  seen  interestedly  viewing  the  remains  of  a 
former  thermometer.  It  was  an  unsophisticated  Northern 
affair  brought  down  by  the  captain  himself,  and  it  only 
provided  for  the  registration  of  120  degrees.  It  struggled 
nobly  when  the  heat  became  higher,  but  to  no  avail.  It 
burst.  When  one  adds  the  warmth  of  the  ovens  to  the 
normal — or,  rather,  abnormal — heat  of  the  land  which 
we  once,  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  took  away  from 
the  Mexicans,  it  can  be  seen  why  the  position  was  one  not 
cherished  by  all.  The  men,  as  a  rule,  took  a  certain 
pride  in  their  work,  which  was  the  one  thing  that  enabled 
them  to  keep  at  it  with  the  spirit  with  which  they  did. 
Their  hours,  too,  were  long.  Baking  at  McAllen  for 
the  first  shift  began  at  two  in  the  morning  and  continued 
twelve  hours  for  each  squad.  Other  bakeries  had  largely 


Baking  on  the  Border  BU3 

the  same  regulations  and  conditions  which  prevailed  here, 
with  the  exception  that  the  hours  in  some  cases  were  only 
eight  hours  a  day.  I  should  suggest  as  an  excellent  cure 
for  trainmen  who  feel  that  their  hours  are  too  long  that 
they  be  given  occupation  for  a  time  among  the  breadmen 
of  the  army,  and  after  the  experience  there  will  be  a  deep 
and  lasting  content  in  their  midst. 

It  is  rather  natural,  when  time  hangs  heavy  on  the 
hands  of  a  soldier  who  wishes  he  were  at  home,  that  he 
grumble.  He  really  isn't  serious  about  it,  and,  in  fact, 
derives  a  certain  portion  of  his  entertainment  from  this 
source,  just  as  weepy  females  hie  them  to  a  tragedy  where 
they  can  enjoy  a  splendid  and  gratifying  sobfest.  It  is 
one  of  the  highest  compliments  that  can  be  paid  to  the 
work  of  the  big  army  of  bakers,  then,  that,  concerning 
the  most  important  item  in  their  bill  of  fare,  one  never 
heard  a  complaint — but  on  occasions,  instead,  could  hear 
arising  from  the  clatter  of  knives  and  forks  a  muffled, 
"Say,  that's  blame  good  bread." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 
A  Soldier  of  Fortune  With  Villa. 

Before  I  arrived  at  Ysleta  I  had  heard  a  lot  about 
Pancho  Villa,  but  nothing  that  distinguished  him  greatly 
from  any  of  the  other  bandits  o-f  dear  old  Mexico.  At 
Ysleta,  after  a  conversation  with  Dr.  Jerome  Triolo,  a 
soldier  of  fortune  who  has  served  several  years  in  Villa's 
army  in  a  medical  capacity  with  the  title  of  lieutenant- 
colonel,  I  felt  that  Pancho  might  be  quite  an  interesting 
person  to  meet  after  all. 

Ysleta  might  be  said  to  have  given  birth  to  Villa's 
career,  for  the  father  of  Dr.  Triolo  furnished  the  Mexican 
with  nine  guns,  nine  horses  and  nine  everything  excepting 
nine  men,  which  Villa  supplied  himself.  Immediately 
thereafter  Villa  rode  across  the  border  into  Mexico  and 
proceeded  to  convince  a  little  town  called  Saragossa  that 
he  was  a  person  who  did  not  appreciate  opposition. 

Recruits  rapidly  joined  him,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  he  had  a  large  following  and  was  the  temporarily 
pampered  pet  of  the  United  States.  Some  years  later, 
after  spoils  had  enriched  him,  he  sent  back  $30,000  in 
gold  to  Mr.  Triolo  as  a  testimonial  of  his  gratitude  for 
help  rendered  in  time  of  need. 

I  talked  with  Dr.  Triolo  in  the  picturesque  sitting 
room  of  the  Little  Valley  Inn  of  that  town.  There  were 
a  number  of  us  gathered  about,  listening  to  him,  and  the 
thrills  we  received  from  his  stories  could  only  be  likened 
to  the  days  when  we  used  to  tell  ghost  stories  in  a  dim 

204 


2f  l^dliler  of  Fortune  205 

and  gloomy  room,  for,  since  the  Columbus  affair,  Ysleta 
had  been  constantly  expecting  a  raid  from  across  the 
creek.  In  the  town  there  are  but  300  whites  to  a  popu- 
lation of  about  2,000  Mexicans,  with  only  a  few  troops 
to  protect  them.  Its  close  proximity  to  El  Paso  makes 
it  an  ideal  place  for  the  brown  men  to  attack  if  a  diversion 
was  ever  created  in  Juarez  to  attract  the  attention  of  the 
El  Paso  militia. 

I  had  been  told  of  some  of  Dr.  Triolo's  adventures 
before  meeting  him,  so  when  I  saw  an  agreeable,  mild- 
appearing,  medium-sized  person  in  a  Palm  Beach  suit  I 
was  surprised.  He  did  not  in  the  least  fit  in  with  my 
previous  conception  of  a  person  who  valued  his  life  so 
lightly. 

"There  were  several  reasons  why  Villa  was  a  great 
man,"  said  Dr.  Triolo,  "but  the  chief  were  the  fact  that 
he  was  always  reliable  about  paying  his  men — if  he  ever 
had  money  his  men  got  their  share  and  he  was  an  un- 
usually clever  strategist.  No  one  could  have  taken  Juarez 
in  the  manner  in  which  he  did  without  being  such. 

"It  was  commonly  believed  in  the  latter  part  of 
November,  1913,  that  Villa  was  on  his  way  to  storm 
Chihuahua  City.  Several  miles  outside,  however,  his 
army  held  up  a  train  which  was  leaving  Juarez  for  that 
place.  He  forced  the  conductor  to  wire  back  to  the 
Juarez  authorities  that  he  was  returning,  as  Villa  was 
advancing  toward  Chihuahua  with  a  large  force  and  he 
feared  that  the  train  would  be  unable  to  get  through. 
After  this  message  had  been  sent  Villa  and  his  merry 
band  hopped  on  the  train  and  rode  back  into  the  city  of 
Juarez.  The  inhabitants  had  prepared  no  greeting  for 
him  and  were  so  surprised  to  see  him  that  they  were  able 


306  Along  the  Rio  Grande, 

to  offer  no  resistance  to  his  invasion.     It  surrendered 
almost  without  a  struggle. 

"I  was  also  with  him  in  April,  1913,  when  he  ad- 
vanced on  Chihuahua  City.  Before  he  entered  the  town 
he  sent  several  women  ahead  who  pretended  they  had 
escaped  from  his  clutches. 

"They  gained  the  confidence  of  the  garrison  there 
by  complaining  of  the  hardships  Villa  had  inflicted  upon 
them.  After  they  had  obtained  all  the  necessary  informa- 
tion regarding  the  extent  and  location  of  the  troops  there 
they  returned  to  their  chief.  Villa  also  had  an  extensive 
spy  system.  In  Chihuahua  he  had  many  men  who  threw 
bombs  into  the  midst  of  the  defenders  upon  the  entrance 
of  the  Villistas.  Even  then  those  in  the  town  thought 
the  missiles  came  from  the  invaders. 

"Of  course,  Villa  was  cruel,  but  that  detracted  in 
no  way  from  his  generalship,  for  Villa  is  no  more  cruel 
than  any  of  the  Mexican  people.  He  thought  nothing  of 
taking  life.  At  Torreon  he  lined  them  up  seven  deep 
for  their  execution  in  order  to  save  ammunition.  In 
Juarez  one  day  Villa  stopped  a  peon  with  a  bundle  of 
stolen  calico  under  his  arm. 

"  'Where  did  you  get  that? '  asked  Villa. 

"  'I  found  it  on  the  street,'  was  the  rather  flimsy 
answer.  Villa  turned  to  a  soldier  by  his  side. 

"  'Shoot  him/  he  said  calmly,  and  walked  on.  The 
man  was  shot. 

"On  another  day  in  the  same  town  Villa  spied  a 
rider,  wanted  for  some  crime,  going  down  the  avenue. 
He  pointed  him  out  to  a  guard  with  his  usual  laconic  re- 
quest, 'Shoot  him.'  I  doubt  if  the  man  ever  knew  what 
struck  him. 


A  Soldier  of  Fortune  t07 

"If  a  person  asked  a  favor  of  Villa  when  the  latter 
was  in  a  bad  mood  he  was  just  as  apt  to  be  killed  as  to 
have  his  favor  granted.  After  executions  he  was  par- 
ticularly morose,  and  it  was  an  extremely  hazardous 
proposition  to  approach  him  for  two  or  three  days  after- 
ward. 

"At  Torreon  I  saw  Villa's  lieutenant,  Fierro,  hold 
up  a  train  on  which  some  of  the  Federalists  were  attempt- 
ing to  leave.  A  band  of  horsemen  stood  on  the  track  in 
front  of  the  train  and  demanded  that  the  engineer  bring 
it  to  a  stop.  The  engineer  was  in  a  rather  embarrassing 
position,  for  standing  in  back  of  him  with  a  revolver 
pressed  tightly  to  his  head  was  a  Federalist  soldier,  who 
informed  the  driver  that  he  would  pull  the  trigger  if  the 
cars  were  halted.  The  engineer  paid  close  heed  to  him 
until  the  train  passed  over  one  of  the  horses  in  the  track. 
He  put  on  the  brakes  and  departed  for  the  happy  hun-ting 
grounds. 

"In  the  same  train  I  saw  a  bullet  pass  through  the 
head  of  a  child  held  in  its  mother's  arms  and  then  pene- 
trate the  mother's  heart 

"In  the  last  car  was  a  Federalist  band,  seven  or  eight 
of  whom  had  already  been  killed  in  the  fight.  After  the 
train  had  been  stopped  Villa  dragged  them  all  out.  He 
wanted  music  and  commanded  them  to  play.  All  but 
one  of  them  did  so.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  it  was  an 
imposition  to  be  asked  to  perform  after  so  many  of  his 
comrades  had  died.  His  fate  was  the  usual  one. 

"A  Mexican  understands  and  respects  force  of  this 
sort,  however,  and  it  was  probably  largely  due  to  this 
that  they  followed  him  so  devotedly. 

"There  were  other  characteristics  of  Villa's  how- 


208  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

ever,  that  compelled  this  following.  He  was  always 
square  and  generous  with  them.  Whenever  he  had  money 
they  were  always  sure  of  their  pay.  He  never  allowed 
them  to  do  any  looting  of  their  own  free  will — it  was 
an  inviolable  rule  of  his  that  it  must  be  under  his  direc- 
tion— but  the  spoils  were  great  and  their  pay  good. 
Villa  is  a  total  abstainer,  he  neither  smokes  nor  drinks — 
the  only  way  in  which  he  could  be  caught  at  a  disadvan- 
tage was  through  the  fact  that  he  could  neither  read  nor 
write,  although  he  has  since  learned. 

"His  men  would  undergo  any  hardship  for  him  with- 
out complaining,  and  I  never  saw  one  of  them  show  the 
yellow  streak — a  characteristic  which  I  think  will  surprise 
the  American  troops  if  the  occasion  arises  for  them  to  go 
into  Mexico,  which  doubtless  will  be  the  case  within  the 
next  six  months. 

"At  the  battle  of  Torreon  I  superintended  the  trans- 
ference of  five  carloads  of  wounded  from  that  city  to 
Chihuahua  City,  where  they  could  be  cared  for  in  the 
five  hospitals  of  that  city.  They  were  jarred  and  jammed 
about  in  the  freight  cars  for  forty-eight  hours,  and  the 
only  nourishment  they  had  was  a  tortilla  and  a  bottle  of 
milk  apiece,  yet  there  wasn't  the  slightest  suggestion  of 
complaint  on  the  part  of  the  men. 

"When  they  arrived  at  Chihuahua  City  those  who 
were  able  to  sit  up  were  piled  into  the  street  cars,  while 
the  rest  were  carried  to  the  hospital.  Everywhere  I  saw 
the  same  evidences  of  courage  and  hardihood.  I  remem- 
ber one  man  who  was  shot  through  an  arm  and  both 
legs.  A  bomb  had  exploded  in  his  face  and  his  head  was 
twice  its  natural  size.  The  first  thing  he  did,  however, 
when  he  got  in  the  car  was  to  ask  for  a  cigarette,  and  in 


A  Soldier  of  Fortune.  209 

a  minute  I  saw  him  blandly  smiling,  with  it  in  the  least 
swollen  part  of  his  mouth." 

"Didn't  you  ever  have  any  fear  of  personal  danger 
from  Villa?"  I  asked. 

"Not  from  him,"  responded  the  doctor.  "He  was 
always  very  friendly  to  Americans,  particularly  after  Gen- 
eral Scott,  through  instructions  from  Washington,  led 
him  to  believe  the  United  States  would  recognize  him 
when  the  time  came.  Of  course  his  attitude  changed 
to  one  of  bitterness  after  the  support  of  our  Government 
was  withdrawn,  but  in  spite  of  everything,  I  only  came 
near  losing  my  life  on  two  occasions. 

"Once  while  riding  ahead  of  an  ambulance  wagon 
— one  of  the  few  Villa's  army  had,  for  the  usual  Mexican 
custom  is  to  shoot  those  who  are  badly  wounded — a  bul- 
let passed  through  my  leg  and  killed  my  horse  beneath  me. 

"The  other  time  was  when  I  went  down  to  a  city 
called  Sinaloa  to  take  my  wife  and  child  who  were  there 
back  with  me  to  Tierra  Blanca.  When  I  arrived  a  man 
was  put  in  jail  for  a  mining  fraud.  He  conceived  the 
idea  that  it  was  I  who  had  been  responsible  for  his  im- 
prisonment. In  order  to  avenge  himself  he  told  General 
Obregon  I  was  a  Villa  spy,  and  the  General  clapped  me 
into  jail.  I  was  condemned  to  be  shot.  I  stayed  in  prison 
for  fourteen  days  awaiting  execution.  Fortunately,  how- 
ever, before  the  day  arrived  my  brother,  who  knew  Car- 
ranza  very  well,  got  word  to  him  of  my  plight,  and 
through  him  I  was  released. 

"Even  then  my  troubles  were  not  over,  for  I  had 
great  difficulty  in  escaping  from  the  town.  I  had  to 
disguise  myself  as  a  woman,  and  my  wife  and  I,  with 
an  Indian  carrying  our  child  in  a  box  on  his  back,  had 


210  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

o  walk  four  days  over  the  mountains  through  snow  up 
to  our  waists  at  times  before  we  were  able  to  reach  Tierra 
Blanca,  where  I  left  her  to  rejoin  Villa's  army. 

"Villa  no  longer  possesses  the  power  that  he  used 
to,  but  the  United  States,  after  its  blunder  in  not  recog- 
nizing Huerta,  could  still  have  brought  about  order  in 
Mexico  by  placing  Villa  in  power,  for  he  is  the  one  man 
who  possesses  sufficient  military  genius  and  the  ability  to 
control  his  people  and  make  Mexico  a  safe  place  for 
Americans.  Under  him  Juarez  was  never  so  well  policed 
or  so  safe  for  white  people  before  or  since." 

The  guests  began  to  file  in  from  the  porch.  Dr. 
Triolo  arose  to  leave.  A  few  minutes  afterward  we  were 
all  in  our  beds  dreaming  of  raids  on  Ysleta,  in  which 
Pancho  Villa  played  a  conspicuous  and  terrifying  part, 
for  in  spite  of  what  we  had  heard  about  his  good  qualities, 
the  stories  of  his  cruelty  had  made  the  greatest  im- 
pression. 


CHAPTER.  XXXIIL 
The  Mexican  Army. 

Mexico's  army  is  the  busiest  thing  in  a  land  where 
business  has  almost  ceased;  it  is  the  funniest  thing  in  a 
land  brimming  with  misery;  it  is  the  most  constant  thing 
in  a  land  where  each  day  sees  some  new  revulsion. 

It  is  the  tragedy  of  the  nation,  as  well  as  its  hope; 
the  first  because  of  the  purposes  for  which  it  is  used, 
revolution  after  revolution,  and  the  latter  because  under 
the  leadership  of  the  right  man  and  with  the  proper 
training  it  contains  the  material  with  which  to  drag  the 
country  out  of  the  quicksands  of  disorder  into  which  it 
has  fallen. 

The  great  mass  of  fighting  men  come  from  the 
peon  class.  It  is  the  one  method  left  to  put  food  into 
a  stomach  that  otherwise  knows  none.  It  usually  takes 
little  persuasion  to  induce  them  to  adopt  a  military  life, 
for  incessant  taxation  has  left  them  little  chance  to  exist 
if  they  turn  their  attention  to  agriculture  instead.  But 
if  persuasion  is  needed  Mexican  leaders  are  not  hesitant 
about  employing  it.  It  is  not  always  of  the  gentlest 
sort.  "Pressing"  men  into  service  is  one  of  the  best 
things  the  Mexican  Government  does.  Occasionally  it 
is  given  the  color  of  legality.  Huerta  when  he  needed 
more  men  passed  a  law  that  all  Mexicans  appearing  in 
the  streets  wearing  trousers  which  resembled  the  lower 
part  of  a  pair  of  pajamas — almost  a  universal  form  of 
attire  for  the  males  in  some  sections  of  the  country — 

211 


212  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

should  be  arrested  for  breach  of  public  morals  and  be 
required  to  serve  as  soldiers  as  punishment.  Not  much 
publicity  was  given  to  the  statute,  so  fathers  were  soon 
being  separated  from  their  families  by  the  wholesale. 

Not  always  does  the  Government  go  to  the  trouble 
of  passing  special  laws  such  as  this.  Recruiting  officers 
in  times  of  necessity  proceed  up  the  streets  to  take  whom- 
soever they  find.  A  few  words  in  Spanish,  the  equiva- 
lent of  "Tag,  you're  it,"  are  almost  the  sole  explanation 
they  receive,  and  the  peons  are  forced  into  the  service, 
usually  without  another  opportunity  to  see  again  the 
families  which  they  are,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  leaving 
forever. 

It  is  not  surprising,  in  view  of  such  stringent  con- 
scription, that  the  soldiers  are  quite  prone  to  desert  when 
the  opportunity  is  given  them.  After  the  evacuation 
of  Torreon  by  the  Federals  under  the  Huerta  regime 
General  Munguia  was  summoned  before  the  court-martial 
to  show  cause  why  he  should  not  be  shot  for  inefficiency. 
"I  was  unable  to  meet  the  enemy,"  he  said  in  explana- 
tion, "for  they  fight  in  loose  formation  and  I  was  obliged 
to  keep  mine  in  close  order.  Otherwise  they  would  all 
have  deserted.  I  was  also  unable  to  command  the  offi- 
cers to  lead  them  in  charge,  for  they  would  not  have 
hesitated  to  shoot  their  leaders  the  instant  the  orders 
were  given." 

There  is  little  organization  in  the  army,  for  efficient 
officers  are  scarce.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  the  time 
to  train  them  even  were  they  capable  of  doing  so.  The 
average  Mexican's  idea  of  a  fight  is  that  victory  goes 
to  the  side  making  the  greatest  amount  of  noise  by  lung 
power  and  burning  of  gunpowder.  As  far  as  they  are 


The  Mexican  Army.  213 

concerned,  the  art  of  pursuit  is  a  dead  one.  Given  a 
fair  opportunity,  two  opposing  forces  on  glimpsing  one 
another  will  turn  and  ride  in  opposite  directions  until 
they  believe  a  safe  distance  separates  them.  Of  course, 
if  battle  is  unavoidable,  they  will  fight,  and  no  one  on 
such  occasions  can  accuse  them  of  lack  of  bravery. 
Their  effectiveness  is  somewhat  hampered,  however,  by 
their  custom  of  discharging  their  pieces  into  the  air  from 
the  hip.  It  makes  a  lot  of  noise,  but  higher  praise  one 
cannot  give  it. 

I  was  told  of  a  battle  which  took  place  in  the  north- 
ern part  of  Sonora  between  some  Villa  forces  and  the 
Federalists.  All  day  shots  were  exchanged  between  the 
two  across  a  valley.  The  uproar  was  terrific,  but  the 
execution  small.  The  casualties  totalled  one  gray  mule. 

Another  battle  raged  for  four  hours  near  a  mine 
in  Monterey.  One  of  the  employees  there  who  described 
it  to  me  told  how  the  bullets  rained  like  hail  through  the 
tops  of  the  trees — so  thick  that  hundreds  of  blackbirds 
were  afterward  found  lifeless,  and  great  flocks  of  them, 
bewildered  and  terrified,  took  refuge  on  the  ground.  But 
"the  dickey  birds,"  as  he  called  them,  were  the  greatest 
sufferers  and  few  soldiers  were  the  victims  of  their  ene- 
mies' bullets. 

One  finds  in  the  army  everything  from  boys  of 
fourteen  to  men  of  sixty.  They  are  soldiers  as  soon  as 
they  are  provided  with  a  rifle,  cartridge  belts  and  a  uni- 
form, although  in  many  cases  the  latter  has  not  been 
furnished  them.  But  no  matter  what  their  age  they 
possess  their  merits  as  fighting  men  as  well  as  their  faults, 
and  more  attention  is  usually  paid  to  the  latter  than  the 
former.  Hardships  they  have  experienced  all  their  lives, 


JB14  Along  the  Rio  Grande 

so  when  they  encounter  them  in  warfare  they  do  so  with 
fortitude.  They  complain  but  little  and  can  travel  amaz- 
ing distances  on  an  amount  of  food  that  would  not  last 
Americans  for  a  tenth  of  the  time,  and  even  then 
cause  them  to  write  North  letters  of  the  enormous  trials 
they  were  enduring.  Their  menu  is  not  complicated. 
It  consists  of  tortillas  (a  form  of  pancakes),  frijoles, 
which  are  red  Mexican  beans,  enchiladas  (a  concoction 
filled  with  spice,  chopped  meat  and  other  ingredients), 
with  occasionally  meat  furnished  by  any  unfortunate 
cattle  upon  which  they  have  chanced.  A  large  number 
of  femmes  des  guerres  accompany  them.  They  serve  the 
double  capacity  of  wife  and  cook. 

A  man  who  travelled  out  of  Mexico  to  the  border 
in  1913  with  General  Obregon's  men  described  to  me 
the  conditions  on  the  march. 

"The  women,"  he  said,  "conduct  a  sort  of  'fonda,' 
or  kitchen,  and  get  paid  for  the  stuff  they  cook.  Some 
of  them  are  certainly  a  funny  looking  sight.  I  remember 
one  clad  in  a  single  piece  slip — nothing  else — with  two 
cartridge  belts  crossed  over  her  breast  and  carrying  a 
child  in  her  arms.  There  was  another  kid  by  her  side 
and  a  third  riding  on  top  of  the  burden  supported  by  her 
mule.  She  was  bare-footed  and  carried  a  load  of  about 
ninety  pounds  on  her  back,  but  the  crowning  glory  of 
the  effect  was  a  rooster  which  rode  perched  on  the  crown 
of  a  wide  straw  hat  which  she  wore. 

"As  soon  as  the  march  for  the  day  ceases  they 
begin  the  preparation  of  the  meal.  If  cattle  are  possessed 
they  are  killed  and  the  flesh  placed,  still  quivering,  on 
the  coals.  After  this  the  tortillas  are  made  ready.  I 
watched  the  process  and  for  the  first  few  days  I  ate 


The  Mexican  Army. 

nothing.  Their  hands,  apparently,  are  never  washed. 
Occasionally,  after  they  have  become  too  greasy  from 
much  patting  into  shape  of  the  cakes,  the  women  wipe 
them  on  their  aprons.  This  has  been  done  so  often  that 
a  deep  crust  of  dirt  and  grease  is  the  result.  My  appetite 
suffered.  However,  when  I  could  stand  my  hunger  no 
longer  I  waited  until  all  the  others  had  been  served,  for 
I  figured  that  after  kneading  many  tortillas  her  hands 
would  be  somewhat  cleaner. 

"During  the  meal  the  general  remarked,  'Do  you 
remember  the  march  from  Chihuahua,  Marie? '  I  learned 
afterward  that  he  referred  to  an  incident  connected  with 
the  birth  of  a  child  of  hers.  During  the  journey  of  the 
army  she  dropped  out.  An  hour  later  she  had  again 
overtaken  the  troops  and  was  carrying  a  newly  born 
baby.  This  is  not  unusual,  and  the  army  never  pauses 
to  await  the  arrival  of  such  additions  to  their  numbers. 
When  conscription  is  needed  to  fill  up  the  ranks  of  the 
army  many  women  are  impressed  at  the  same  time,  for 
they  are  quite  as  essential  a  part  of  the  equipment  as  fire- 
arms." 

Over  the  American  army,  however,  if  it  ever  in- 
vades Mexico,  the  native  troops  will  possess  one  great 
advantage.  They  know  their  country  perfectly  and  are 
natural  guerrilla  fighters.  When  once  they  take  refuge 
in  the  hills  they  will  not  be  dislodged  again  without  great 
loss  of  life,  and  many  of  the  men  who  go  in  scorning  them 
will  come  out  again  with  a  heightened  respect — if  they 
come  out  at  all. 


IN' 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 
University  of  California  Library 

or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 

•  2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 
(510)642-6753 

•  1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing 
books  to  NRLF 

•  Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4 
days  prior  to  due  date. 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

MAY  1  5  ?QO? 


'1 


12,000(11/95) 


vc 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


C0510fl03flt, 


( 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


